With great difficulty, Wood forced a path through the ruins. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. ‘There were the Comte and Comtesse de St Erme. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. Pancras,” she directed, promptly. The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world. What has become of the other?" "Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in surprise. The door was locked; but, with the bars of iron, it was speedily burst open. Then she looked at her aunt, and traced with a curious eye the careful arrangement of her hair, her sharp nose, the little drooping lines of mouth and chin and cheek. His perseverance was amply rewarded.
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