" She opened the book which she had brought to the table. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. There sat Jack, evidently in the last stage of intoxication, with his collar opened, his dress disarranged, a pipe in his mouth, a bowl of punch and a halfemptied rummer before him,—there he sat, receiving and returning, or rather attempting to return,—for he was almost past consciousness,—the blandishments of a couple of females, one of whom had passed her arm round his neck, while the other leaned over the back of his chair and appeared from her gestures to be whispering soft nonsense into his ear. "Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar. I shall find him yet.
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