“Rachel,” said Mr. Kneebone, addressing his comely attendant; “put a few more plates on the table, and bring up whatever there is in the larder. I expect company.” “Company!” echoed Rachel; “at this time of night?” “Company, child,” repeated Kneebone. “I shall want a bottle or two of sack, and a flask of usquebaugh.” “Anything else, Sir?” “No:--stay! you'd better not bring up any silver forks or spoons.” “Why, surely you don't think your guests would steal them,” observed Rachel, archly. “They shan't have the opportunity,” replied Kneebone. And, by way of checking his housekeeper's familiarity, he pointed significantly to the table. “Who's there?” cried Rachel. “I'll see.” And before she could be prevented, she lifted up the cloth, and disclosed Shotbolt. “Oh, Gemini!” she exclaimed. “A man!” “At your service, my dear,” replied the jailer. “Now your curiosity's satisfied, child,” continued Kneebone, “perhaps, you'll attend to my orders.” Not a little perplexed by the mysterious object she had seen, Rachel left the room, and, shortly afterwards returned with the materials of a tolerably good supper;--to wit, a couple of cold fowls, a tongue, the best part of a sirloin of beef, a jar of pickles, and two small dishes of pastry. To these she added the wine and spirits directed, and when all was arranged looked inquisitively at her master. “I expect a very extraordinary person to supper, Rachel,” he remarked. “The gentleman under the table,” she answered. “He _does_ seem a very extraordinary person.” “No; another still more extraordinary.” “Indeed!--who is it?” “Jack Sheppard.” “What! the famous housebreaker. I thought he was in Newgate.” “He's let out for a few hours,” laughed Kneebone; “but he's going back again after supper.” “Oh, dear! how I should like to see him. I'm told he's so handsome.” “I'm sorry I can't indulge you,” replied her master, a little piqued. “I shall want nothing more. You had better go to bed.” “It's no use going to bed,” answered Rachel. “I shan't sleep a wink while Jack Sheppard's in the house.” “Keep in your own room, at all events,” rejoined Kneebone. “Very well,” said Rachel, with a toss of her pretty head, “very well. I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it,” she muttered, as she went out. Mr. Kneebone, then, sat down to await the arrival of his expected guest. Half an hour passed, but Jack did not make his appearance. The woollen-draper looked at his watch. It was eleven o'clock. Another long interval elapsed. The watch was again consulted. It was now a quarter past twelve. Mr. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. “I suspect our friend has thought better of it, and won't come,” he remarked. “Have a little patience, Sir,” rejoined the jailer. “How are you off there, Shoplatch?” inquired Kneebone. “Rather cramped, eh?” “Rather so, Sir,” replied the other, altering his position. “I shall be able to stretch my limbs presently--ha! ha!”