How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been the still pools in the rocks after the ebb. I deemed it more prudent to send him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search after him by his adoptive father—the carpenter Wood. “I never dreamt!” she said. To win the contest meant you would be chosen to apprentice in magic as a priest under her tutelage. Who were you looking for tonight? One of the émigrés? There were several in there. “Why will you not be sensible? Go back to your old life and your old friends, and forget all about Paris and this absurd delusion of yours.
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