Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. Running his hand hastily over it, he was startled to find it one complicated mass of bolts and bars. Prepared as he was for a dreadful shock, and with his nerves strung to endure it, Jack absolutely recoiled before the appalling object that met his gaze. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. To return was impossible,—to raise himself certain destruction. His eyes closed. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band.
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