Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. Some rustic hand had written upon the door "JACK SHEPPARD'S CAGE;" and upon the wall was affixed a large placard describing his person, and offering a reward for his capture. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop. ‘Of course not,’ snapped his friend. I’m the sort of dog, if you turn it out of the room it lies down on the mat at the door.
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