She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night. Without inquiring into the correctness of the latter part of the story, it may be sufficient to state, that Black Mary was a person in whom Jack Sheppard thought he could confide, and, as Edgeworth Bess was incapable of much further exertion, he determined to leave her in the old woman's care till the following night, while he shifted for himself and fulfilled his design—for, however rash or hazardous a project might be, if once conceived, Jack always executed it,—of visiting Jonathan Wild at his house in the Old Bailey. “Does he live here?” he asked her presently. "Mur—der!" roared Wood, struggling to free himself from his assailant, by whom he was half strangled. " "You need not," replied Jack, in a tone of the deepest compunction. Advancing towards Wood, Jonathan fixed his keen gray eyes upon him, and demanded, in a stern tone whether the persons who had taken refuge in the adjoining house, were bailiffs. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. A man is so apt to—to take women a little too lightly. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily.
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