She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. Idleness is the key of beggary, Jack. The Ragged Edge. ” “And mine,” murmured his companion, with the smile still lingering upon his lips. Half French. And if sometimes I grow heady—and it's in the blood— remind me of this day when you took me out of hell—a thief.
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