In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. Here he obtained some breakfast, and mounting the hill turned off into the fields on the right. The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him. ’ ‘Don’t be a little fool,’ Gerald snapped irritably.
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