“Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. "I've the Bridewell account to settle. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. She were that miserable. She had just passed into a little antechamber beyond when she suddenly heard a faint knocking. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it.
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