"'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. " "He must," exclaimed Jack, hastily; "but only let me have it till to-morrow, and if I don't entrap him in a snare from which, with all his cunning, he shall find it difficult to escape, my name's not Jack Sheppard. Nothing to do; nothing for the hands, the mind, the heart. He had barely said, \"Anytime,\" before she shut the door rather rudely in his face. She had thought to wear it now, since she must look more the demoiselle.
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