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. And when Mr. Spurlock mused over the previous night. Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await Sir Rowland's arrival. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. She was very pretty. Sepulchre's. Give me that precious charge," he added, snatching the bundle from Wood. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees.
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