A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. Startled by the cry, as may be supposed, the attention of the whole congregation was drawn towards the quarter whence it proceeded. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. " "I tell e'e what, John Dump," said the other fellow, who had hitherto preserved silence, "I don't know whether you talkin' o' Jack Sheppard has put him into my head or not; but I once had him pointed out to me, and if that were him as I seed then, he's just now ridden past us, and put up at the Six Bells. She did not try to approach him. Three little letters can’t make a bit of difference. good, miss.
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