Hastening to the church, he entered it by the very door near which his first crime had been committed.  His mother’s scream seemed again to ring in his ears, and he was so deeply affected that, fearful of exciting attention, he was about to quit the sacred edifice, when he was stopped by the entrance of Thames, who looked pale as death, with Winifred leaning on his arm.  They were followed by Mr. Wood in the deepest mourning.

Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands.  The service began.  Jack who had not been in a place of worship for many years was powerfully affected.  Accidentally raising his eyes, he saw that he was perceived by the family from Dollis Hill, and that he was an object of the deepest interest to them.

As soon as the service was over, Thames contrived to approach him, and whispered, “Be cautious,—­the funeral will take place after evening service.”

Jack would not hazard a glance at Winifred; but, quitting the church, got into an adjoining meadow, and watched the party slowly ascending the road leading to Dollis Hill.  At a turn in the road, he perceived Winifred looking anxiously towards him, and when she discovered him, she waved her hand.

Returning to the churchyard, he walked round it; and on the western side, near a small yew-tree discovered a new-made grave.

“Whose grave is this?” he inquired of a man who was standing near it.

“I can’t say,” answered the fellow; “but I’ll inquire from the sexton, William Morgan.  Here, Peter,” he added to a curly-headed lad, who was playing on one of the grassy tombs, “ask your father to step this way.”

The little urchin set off, and presently returned with the sexton.

“It’s Mrs. Sheppard’s grave,—­the mother of the famous housebreaker,” said Morgan, in answer to Jack’s inquiry;—­“and it’s well they let her have Christian burial after all—­for they say she destroyed herself for her son.  The crowner’s ’quest sat on her yesterday—­and if she hadn’t been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends.”

Jack could stand no more.  Placing a piece of money in Morgan’s hands, he hurried out of the churchyard.

“By my soul,” said the sexton, “that’s as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i’ my born days.”

Hastening to the Six Bells, Jack ordered some refreshment, and engaged a private room, where he remained till the afternoon absorbed in grief.

Meantime, a change had taken place in the weather.  The day had become suddenly overcast.  The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts.  Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house.  On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill.  Just then, a carriage drawn by four horses, drove furiously up to the Six Bells; but Jack was too much absorbed to take any notice of it.