"You have betrayed me," said he, in a deep whisper, to his companion; "but you shall reap the reward of your treachery. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is. ” He said. All that she had ever loved were gone, except Sebastian. You are afraid—that here in London—I shall not be a success. Nothing, in short, portable or valuable was left. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred.
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