“Nigel, don’t you understand. The prison gates were besieged like the entrance of a booth at a fair; and the Condemned Hold where he was confined, and to which visitors were admitted at the moderate rate of a guinea a-head, had quite the appearance of a showroom. Sheppard's time it was even more beautiful than at present, when the hand of improvement has proceeded a little too rashly with alterations and repairs. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. ” She laughed heartily, and became as suddenly grave.
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