"Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. "When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. But about dat jonker," he continued, lowering his voice; "have you anything to add consarnin' him? It's almosht a pity to put him onder de water. When the prisoner was removed from the dock, we met Jonathan as we passed through the yard. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature. Now I am sorry to cross you in anything you have set your heart upon, but I regret to say—” “H’m,” he reflected, and crossed out the last four words.
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