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—"As Rowland's whole crew perished in the tempest, and he only escaped by miracle, he fancied himself free from detection. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. ” “I am sorry,” said Ann Veronica. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of "credit and renown," whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church in the Strand. And they admired Kent sedulously from the windows. She moved towards it slowly and picked it up, holding it out in front of her whilst the familiar perfume seemed to assert itself with damning insistence. Turning quickly round, in the hope of discovering the thief, he was no less surprised than distressed—for in spite of his faults, the woollen-draper was a good-natured fellow—to perceive Jack Sheppard in custody. " "Man, she's your wife!" "And I am a thief. "Halloa!" cried Jack, looking round, and trying to fix his inebriate gaze upon the speaker,—"who's that?" "Your mother," replied Mrs. Wood, then, beheld two persons, one of whom he recognised as Rowland, spring on board the chase. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip.

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