From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. This, then, was the cause of the widow's wild inexplicable look,—of her sudden shriek! Explaining his suspicious in a whisper to Jack's captor, who proved to be a church-warden and a constable, by name John Dump,—Mr. ‘Melusine was making herself mistress of them when we met. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. ” He looked at her intensely, his dark eyes deepened with sleeplessness. At length, I shall ascertain my name.
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