The horror of those few minutes was still with her. “We will convince him now to the contrary,” Annabel answered. ‘Let her go. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. Here was the corner-stone of a capital story; but he knew that Howard Spurlock would never write it. Her heart swelled to suffocation. For a few minutes all was silent. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. “Leave them!” He yelled.
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