Give me that picture, or I'll make you!" "Hear me," said Thames, calmly; "you well know you're no match for me. The Procession to Tyburn. Ramage pursed his rather loose lips and shrugged his shoulders, with his eyes fixed steadily upon her. Jonathan Wild must have stolen it from her. The conflict was of short duration; for Shotbolt was no match for his athletic antagonist. Thames sprang to his feet, and half drew his sword, while Wood, removing his spectacles to assure himself that his eyes did not deceive him, exclaimed in a tone and with a look that betrayed the extremity of surprise—"Jack Sheppard!" "Jack Sheppard!" echoed the maid.
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