“Who’ll mind the baby nar?” was one of the night’s inspirations, and very frequent. Other things came. “I would like to go home,” she cried, “to please her. ‘What, and miss getting myself murdered?’ ‘She said she wouldn’t murder you. Sheppard, struggling to escape, and holding the infant at arm's length; "have mercy on this helpless innocent!" And the child, alarmed by the strife, added its feeble cries to its mother's shrieks. "Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!" "Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt. Her cheeks were aflame. I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. Never! And they don’t know it! They have no idea of it. It's fortunate we've no more Jack Sheppards, or I should stand but a poor chance. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. This is part of a dream— some evil fancy.
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