And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. ‘Thank you,’ she said, leaning heavily on his arm for a moment. "Coming!—so is midnight—so is Jonathan Wild," retorted Jack, with a significant look at Thames. She could now see to read; so she stirred the manuscript about until she came upon the first page. In the obscurity in which it was now seen, it looked like a prison, and, indeed, it was Jonathan's fancy to make it resemble one as much as possible. It was impossible. Full as she was of him, it felt good to shower her kill out of her hair. " "Very well, Sir," replied Sheppard.
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