It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. Still, there certainly was something in the idea of a treaty. As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way, halted and addressed his companion in a low voice:— "I don't half like this job, Blueskin," he said; "it always went against the grain. Far away there was the one woman for this boy of mine—some human being who would understand the dear fool better than all the rest of the world. She had taken care he should have this momentous talk with her on a garden-seat commanded by the windows of the house.
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