"By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. Sordid; but that was not Ruth's term for it; she had no precise commentary to offer. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. Having watched the funeral at some distance, Jonathan fancied he could discern the figure of Jack; but not being quite sure, he entered the church. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. ” She looked at him; his face, downcast and in profile, was handsome and strong.
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