"Here!" shrieked Lady Trafford. I don’t know what has come over me. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. During this colloquy, Jack had contrived unobserved to put on the hood and cloak, and being about the size of the rightful owner, presented a very tolerable resemblance to her. If Jack Sheppard could behold his mother in this state, he'd have a lesson he'd never forget—ay, and a severer one than even the hangman could read him. In this screen, which masked the entrance of a dark passage communicating with the Condemned Hold, about five feet from the ground, was a hatch, protected by long spikes set six inches apart, and each of the thickness of an elephant's tusk. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves.
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