CHAPTER XXIX. "Odd's life!" cried Gay, in astonishment; "is this slight-made stripling Jack Sheppard? Why, I expected to see a man six foot high at the least, and as broad across the shoulders as our friend Figg. You’re the only person I’ve really given good, straight, unselfish thought to. Heedless, however, of the consequences, he pursued his task. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. Goodbye. Something, I'm convinced, has happened to the boys. One called Waterman's Hall, a horrible place adjoining the postern under the gate, whence, through a small barred aperture, they solicited alms from the passengers: the other, a large chamber, denominated My Lady's Hold, was situated in the highest part of the jail, at the northern extremity. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. He knew not how to act, urged as he was in two directions. Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—a wedding,—was about to take place. I’m starving.
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