"Mother—dear mother!" said Jack, bursting into tears. Having read the three first verses of the impressive service appointed for the burial of the dead, he returned to the church, whither the coffin was carried through the south-western door, and placed in the centre of the aisle—Mr. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. But the recollection of the warm pliant body in his arms …! "I am a thief!" he whispered. "I could have sworn I saw him enter this passage. In fact, the reflection of the flames lighted up the ward in which Jack Sheppard was confined.
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