But I'll be more lenient, and content myself with merely chastising you, on condition—" "You may do as you please, master," interrupted Jack, thrusting his hand into his pocket, as if in search of the knife; "but I wouldn't advise you to lay hands on me again. He understood. I tell you that because it puts us on a footing. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. Jack Sheppard's Escape from the New Prison. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear.
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