Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. She kept her eyes closed. No more. She had killed him. "From Jonathan Wild's confidential servant what could be expected but treachery?" With this, he proceeded to dress himself in Quilt Arnold's clothes, pulled the wig over his face and eyes so as completely to conceal his features, slouched the hat over his brows, drew the huge boots above his knees, and muffled himself up in the best way he could. Good riddance. This is your choice. He looked at her, his eyes filled with excited terror and astonishment at her move. She would have just to keep the fifteen pounds until she could make it twenty.
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