How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. "The Dawn Pearl!" he said, making to recline again. He did everything. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. He looked around, and as he heard that deafening shout,— as he felt the influence of those thousand eyes fixed upon him,—as he listened to the cheers, all his misgivings—if he had any—vanished, and he felt more as if he were marching to a triumph, than proceeding to a shameful death. “Are you a special sort of clergyman,” she said, after a pause, and looking down her nose at him, “or do you go to the Universities?” “Oh!” he said, profoundly. Perhaps I ate something spoiled for breakfast.
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