‘I do not mind to pray, no. “Why do you kill me?” Michelle asked. “You are the Sir John Ferringhall who has bought the Lyndmore estate, are you not?” she remarked. "You who are condemned to die, repent with lamentable tears. Michelle listed the items in her pack. So long as she stood beside him, he was safe. “I murdered them, John. The ripple of the water against the boat, as its keel cleaves through the stream—the darkling current hurrying by—the indistinctly-seen craft, of all forms and all sizes, hovering around, and making their way in ghostlike silence, or warning each other of their approach by cries, that, heard from afar, have something doleful in their note—the solemn shadows cast by the bridges—the deeper gloom of the echoing arches—the lights glimmering from the banks—the red reflection thrown upon the waves by a fire kindled on some stationary barge—the tall and fantastic shapes of the houses, as discerned through the obscurity;—these, and other sights and sounds of the same character, give a sombre colour to the thoughts of one who may choose to indulge in meditation at such a time and in such a place. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. 48 <6> THE FRIDAY NIGHT SHOW The air was chill and the sky overcast and misting. ‘At this present, I must appropriate Lady Bicknacre. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END.
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