His voice had broken. and Mrs. “I do not know you,” she said coldly. The lady reseated herself, watching him expectantly. She began to tremble violently. "Are you his ghost, then?" "No—no," answered Jack. ‘Now then, missie. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet.
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