"Bring your story to an end, Sir," said Trenchard who had listened to the recital with mingled emotions of rage and fear.
"I have nearly done," replied the stranger.—"As Rowland's whole crew perished in the tempest, and he only escaped by miracle, he fancied himself free from detection. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. During this period Sir Montacute has been gathered to his fathers. His title has descended to Rowland: his estates to Aliva. The latter has, since, been induced to unite herself to Sir Cecil, on terms originating with her brother, and which, however strange and unprecedented, were acquiesced in by the suitor."
Sir Rowland looked bewildered with surprise.
"The marriage was never consummated," continued the imperturbable stranger. "Sir Cecil is no more. Lady Trafford, supposed to be childless, broken in health and spirits, frail both in mind and body, is not likely to make another marriage. The estates must, ere long, revert to Sir Rowland."
"Are you man, or fiend?" exclaimed Trenchard, staring at the stranger, as he concluded his narration.
"You are complimentary, Sir Rowland," returned the other, with a grim smile.
"If you are human," rejoined Trenchard, with stern emphasis, "I insist upon knowing whence you derived your information?"
"I might refuse to answer the question, Sir Rowland. But I am not indisposed to gratify you. Partly, from your confessor; partly, from other sources."
"My confessor!" ejaculated the knight, in the extremity of surprise; "has he betrayed his sacred trust?"
"He has," replied the other, grinning; "and this will be a caution to you in future, how you confide a secret of consequence to a priest. I should as soon think of trusting a woman. Tickle the ears of their reverences with any idle nonsense you please: but tell them nothing you care to have repeated. I was once a disciple of Saint Peter myself, and speak from experience."
"Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses.
"I'm surprised you've not asked that question before, Sir Rowland. It would have saved me much circumlocution, and you some suspense. My name is Wild—Jonathan Wild."
And the great thief-taker indulged himself in a chuckle at the effect produced by this announcement. He was accustomed to such surprises, and enjoyed them.
Sir Rowland laid his hand upon his sword.
"Mr. Wild," he said, in a sarcastic tone, but with great firmness; "a person of your well-known sagacity must be aware that some secrets are dangerous to the possessor."
"I am fully aware of it, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan, coolly; "but I have nothing to fear; because, in the first place, it will be to your advantage not to molest me; and, in the second, I am provided against all contingencies. I never hunt the human tiger without being armed. My janizaries are without. One of them is furnished with a packet containing the heads of the statement I have just related, which, if I don't return at a certain time, will be laid before the proper authorities. I have calculated my chances, you perceive."
"You have forgotten that you are in my power," returned the knight, sternly; "and that all your allies cannot save you from my resentment."
"I can at least, protect myself," replied Wild, with, provoking calmness. "I am accounted a fair shot, as well as a tolerable swordsman, and I will give proof of my skill in both lines, should occasion require it. I have had a good many desperate engagements in my time, and have generally come off victorious. I bear the marks of some of them about me still," he continued, taking off his wig, and laying bare a bald skull, covered with cicatrices and plates of silver. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. Knap. This wedge of silver," pointing to another, "which would mend a coffee-pot, serves to stop up a breach made by Will Colthurst, who robbed Mr. Hearl on Hounslow-Heath. I secured the dog after he had wounded me. This fracture was the handiwork of Jack Parrot (otherwise called Jack the Grinder), who broke into the palace of the Bishop of Norwich. Jack was a comical scoundrel, and made a little too free with his grace's best burgundy, as well as his grace's favourite housekeeper. The Bishop, however, to show him the danger of meddling with the church, gave him a dance at Tyburn for his pains. Not a scar but has its history. The only inconvenience I feel from my shattered noddle is an incapacity to drink. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. The hardest bout I ever had was with a woman—Sally Wells, who was afterwards lagged for shoplifting. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. Thus, you see, I've never hesitated and never shall hesitate to expose my life where anything is to be gained. My profession has hardened me."
And, with this, he coolly re-adjusted his peruke.
"What do you expect to gain from this interview, Mr. Wild!" demanded Trenchard, as if he had formed a sudden resolution.
"Ah! now we come to business," returned Jonathan, rubbing his hands, gleefully. "These are my terms, Sir Rowland," he added, taking a sheet of paper from his pocket, and pushing it towards the knight.
Trenchard glanced at the document.
"A thousand pounds," he observed, gloomily, "is a heavy price to pay for doubtful secrecy, when certain silence might be so cheaply procured."
"You would purchase it at the price of your head," replied Jonathan, knitting his brows. "Sir Rowland," he added, savagely, and with somewhat of the look of a bull-dog before he flies at his foe, "if it were my pleasure to do so, I could crush you with a breath. You are wholly in my power. Your name, with the fatal epithet of 'dangerous' attached to it, stands foremost on the list of Disaffected now before the Secret Committee. I hold a warrant from Mr. Walpole for your apprehension."
"Arrested!" exclaimed Trenchard, drawing his sword.
"Put up your blade, Sir Rowland," rejoined Jonathan, resuming his former calm demeanour, "King James the Third will need it. I have no intention of arresting you. I have a different game to play; and it'll be your own fault, if you don't come off the winner. I offer you my assistance on certain terms. The proposal is so far from being exorbitant, that it should be trebled if I had not a fellow-feeling in the cause. To be frank with you, I have an affront to requite, which can be settled at the same time, and in the same way with your affair. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge. After all a thousand pounds is a trifle to rid you of an upstart, who may chance to deprive you of tens of thousands."
"Did I hear you aright?" asked Trenchard, with startling eagerness.
"Certainly," replied Jonathan, with the most perfect sangfroid, "I'll undertake to free you from the boy. That's part of the bargain."
"Is he alive!" vociferated Trenchard.
"To be sure," returned Wild; "he's not only alive, but likely for life, if we don't clip the thread."
Sir Rowland caught at a chair for support, and passed his hand across his brow, on which the damp had gathered thickly.
"The intelligence seems new to you. I thought I'd been sufficiently explicit," continued Jonathan. "Most persons would have guessed my meaning."
"Then it was not a dream!" ejaculated Sir Rowland in a hollow voice, and as if speaking to himself. "I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped. God! I have cheated myself into a belief that the boy perished! And now my worst fears are realized—he lives!"
"As yet," returned Jonathan, with fearful emphasis.
"I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair.
Jonathan laughed scornfully.
"Leave him to me," he said. "He shan't trouble you further."
"No," replied Sir Rowland, who appeared completely prostrated. "I will struggle no longer with destiny. Too much blood has been shed already."
"This comes of fine feelings!" muttered Jonathan, contemptuously. "Give me your thorough-paced villain. But I shan't let him off thus. I'll try a strong dose.—Am I to understand that you intend to plead guilty, Sir Rowland?" he added. "If so, I may as well execute my warrant."
"Stand off, Sir!" exclaimed Trenchard, starting suddenly backwards.
"I knew that would bring him to," thought Wild.
"Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland.
"At present under the care of his preserver—one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up."
"Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?"
"The same."
"A boy from his shop was here a short time ago. Could it be him you mean?"
"No. That boy was the carpenter's apprentice, Jack Sheppard. I've just left your nephew."
At this moment Charcam entered the room.
"Beg pardon, Sir Rowland," said the attendant, "but there's a boy from Mr. Wood, with a message for Lady Trafford."
"From whom?" vociferated Trenchard.
"From Mr. Wood the carpenter."
"The same who was here just now?"
"No, Sir Rowland, a much finer boy."
"'Tis he, by Heaven!" cried Jonathan; "this is lucky. Sir Rowland," he added, in a deep whisper, "do you agree to my terms?"
"I do," answered Trenchard, in the same tone.
"Enough!" rejoined Wild; "he shall not return."
"Have you acquainted him with Lady Trafford's departure?" said the knight, addressing Charcam, with as much composure as he could assume.
"No, Sir Rowland," replied the attendant, "as you proposed to ride to Saint Albans to-night, I thought you might choose to see him yourself. Besides, there's something odd about the boy; for, though I questioned him pretty closely concerning his business, he declined answering my questions, and said he could only deliver his message to her ladyship. I thought it better not to send him away till I'd mentioned the circumstance to you."
"You did right," returned Trenchard.
"Where is he?" asked Jonathan.
"In the hall," replied Charcam.
"Alone?"
"Not exactly, Sir. There's another lad at the gate waiting for him—the same who was here just now, that Sir Rowland was speaking of, who fastened up the jewel-case for her ladyship."
"A jewel-case!" exclaimed Jonathan. "Ah, I see it all!" he cried, with a quick glance. "Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. Was anything missed after the lad's departure, Sir Rowland?"
"Not that I'm aware of," said the knight.—"Stay! something occurs to me." And he conferred apart with Jonathan.
"That's it!" cried Wild when Trenchard concluded. "This young fool is come to restore the article—whatever it may be—which Lady Trafford was anxious to conceal, and which his companion purloined. It's precisely what such a simpleton would do. We have him as safe as a linnet in a cage; and could wring his neck round as easily. Oblige me by acting under my guidance in the matter, Sir Rowland. I'm an old hand at such things. Harkee," he added, "Mr. What's-your-name!"
"Charcam," replied the attendant, bowing.
"Very well, Mr. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. A robbery has been committed, and your master suspects this lad as an accessory to the offence. He, therefore, desires to interrogate him. It will be necessary to secure his companion; and as you say he is not in the house, some caution must be used in approaching him, or he may chance to take to his heels, for he's a slippery little rascal. When you've seized him, cough thrice thus,—and two rough-looking gentlemen will make their appearance. Don't be alarmed by their manners, Mr. Charcoal. They're apt to be surly to strangers, but it soon wears off. The gentleman with the red beard will relieve you of your prisoner. The other must call a coach as quickly as he can."
"For whom, Sir?" inquired Charcam. "For me—his master, Mr. Jonathan Wild."
"Are you Mr. Jonathan Wild?" asked the attendant, in great trepidation.
"I am, Charcoal. But don't let my name frighten you. Though," said the thief-taker, with a complacent smile, "all the world seems to tremble at it. Obey my orders, and you've nothing to fear. About them quickly. Lead the lad to suppose that he'll be introduced to Lady Trafford. You understand me, Charcoal."
The attendant did not understand him. He was confounded by the presence in which he found himself. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired.
CHAPTER IX.
Consequences of the Theft.
"How do you mean to act, Sir?" inquired Trenchard, as soon as they were left alone.
"As circumstances shall dictate, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan. "Something is sure to arise in the course of the investigation, of which I can take advantage. If not, I'll convey him to St. Giles's round-house on my own responsibility."
"Is this your notable scheme!" asked the knight, scornfully.
"Once there," proceeded Wild, without noticing the interruption, "he's as good as in his grave. The constable, Sharples, is in my pay. I can remove the prisoner at any hour of the night I think fit: and I will remove him. You must, know, Sir Rowland—for I've no secrets from you—that, in the course of my business I've found it convenient to become the owner of a small Dutch sloop; by means of which I can transmit any light ware,—such as gold watches, rings, and plate, as well as occasionally a bank or goldsmith's note, which has been spoken with by way of the mail,—you understand me?—to Holland or Flanders, and obtain a secure and ready market for them. This vessel is now in the river, off Wapping. Her cargo is nearly shipped. She will sail, at early dawn to-morrow, for Rotterdam. Her commander, Rykhart Van Galgebrok, is devoted to my interests. As soon as he gets into blue water, he'll think no more of pitching the boy overboard than of lighting his pipe. This will be safer than cutting his throat on shore. I've tried the plan, and found it answer. The Northern Ocean keeps a secret better than the Thames, Sir Rowland. Before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the Zeeslang."
"Poor child!" muttered Trenchard, abstractedly; "the whole scene upon the river is passing before me. I hear the splash in the water—I see the white object floating like a sea-bird on the tide—it will not sink!"
"'Sblood!" exclaimed Jonathan, in a tone of ill-disguised contempt; "it won't do to indulge those fancies now. Be seated, and calm yourself."
"I have often conjured up some frightful vision of the dead," murmured the knight, "but I never dreamed of an interview with the living."
"It'll be over in a few minutes," rejoined Jonathan, impatiently; "in fact, it'll be over too soon for me. I like such interviews. But we waste time. Have the goodness to affix your name to that memorandum, Sir Rowland. I require nothing, you see, till my share of the contract is fulfilled."
Trenchard took up a pen.
"It's the boy's death-warrant," observed Jonathan, with a sinister smile.
"I cannot sign it," returned Trenchard.
"Damnation!" exclaimed Wild with a snarl, that displayed his glistening fangs to the farthest extremity of his mouth, "I'm not to be trifled with thus. That paper must be signed, or I take my departure."
"Go, Sir," rejoined the knight, haughtily.
"Ay, ay, I'll go, fast enough!" returned Jonathan, putting his hands into his pockets, "but not alone, Sir Rowland."
At this juncture, the door was flung open, and Charcam entered, dragging in Thames, whom he held by the collar, and who struggled in vain to free himself from the grasp imposed upon him.
"Here's one of the thieves, Sir Rowland!" cried the attendant. "I was only just in time. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. Come along, my Newgate bird!" he continued, shaking him with great violence.
Jonathan gave utterance to a low whistle.
"If things had gone smoothly," he thought, "I should have cursed the fellow's stupidity. As it is, I'm not sorry for the blunder."
Trenchard, meanwhile, whose gaze was fixed upon the boy, became livid as death, but he moved not a muscle.
"'T is he!" he mentally ejaculated.
"What do you think of your nephew, Sir Rowland?" whispered Jonathan, who sat with his back towards Thames, so that his features were concealed from the youth's view. "It would be a thousand pities, wouldn't it, to put so promising a lad out of the way?"
"Devil!" exclaimed the knight fiercely, "Give me the paper."
Jonathan hastily picked up the pen, and presented it to Trenchard, who attached his signature to the document.
"If I am the devil," observed Wild, "as some folks assert, and I myself am not unwilling to believe, you'll find that I differ from the generally-received notions of the arch-fiend, and faithfully execute the commands of those who confide their souls to my custody."
"Take hence this boy, then," rejoined Trenchard; "his looks unman me."
"Of what am I accused?" asked Thames, who though a good deal alarmed at first, had now regained his courage.
"Of robbery!" replied Jonathan in a thundering voice, and suddenly confronting him. "You've charged with assisting your comrade, Jack Sheppard, to purloin certain articles of value from a jewel-case belonging to Lady Trafford. Aha!" he continued, producing a short silver staff, which he carried constantly about with him, and uttering a terrible imprecation, "I see you're confounded. Down on your marrow-bones, sirrah! Confess your guilt, and Sir Rowland may yet save you from the gallows."
"I've nothing to confess," replied Thames, boldly; "I've done no wrong. Are you my accuser?"
"I am," replied Wild; "have you anything to allege to the contrary?"
"Only this," returned Thames: "that the charge is false, and malicious, and that you know it to be so."
"Is that all!" retorted Jonathan. "Come, I must search you my youngster!"
"You shan't touch me," rejoined Thames; and, suddenly bursting from Charcam, he threw himself at the feet of Trenchard. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. "I am innocent, f have stolen nothing. This person—this Jonathan Wild, whom I beheld for the first time, scarcely an hour ago, in Wych Street, is—I know not why—my enemy. He has sworn that he'll take away my life!"
"Bah!" interrupted Jonathan. "You won't listen to this nonsense, Sir Rowland!"
"If you are innocent, boy," said the knight, controlling his emotion; "you have nothing to apprehend. But, what brought you here?"
"Excuse me, Sir Rowland. I cannot answer that question. My business is with Lady Trafford."
"Are you aware that I am her ladyship's brother?" returned the knight. "She has no secrets from me."
"Possibly not," replied Thames, in some confusion; "but I am not at liberty to speak."
"Your hesitation is not in your favour," observed Trenchard, sternly.
"Will he consent, to be searched?" inquired Jonathan.
"No," rejoined Thames, "I won't be treated like a common felon, if I can help it."
"You shall be treated according to your deserts, then," said Jonathan, maliciously. And, in spite of the boy's resistance, he plunged his hands into his pockets, and drew forth the miniature.
"Where did you get this from?" asked Wild, greatly surprised at the result of his investigation.
Thames returned no answer.
"I thought as much," continued Jonathan. "But we'll find a way to make you open your lips presently. Bring in his comrade," he added, in a whisper to Charcam; "I'll take care of him. And don't neglect my instructions this time." Upon which, with an assurance that he would not do so, the attendant departed.
"You can, of course, identify this picture as Lady Trafford's property?" pursued Jonathan, with a meaning glance, as he handed it to the knight.
"I can," replied Trenchard. "Ha!" he exclaimed, with a sudden start, as his glance fell upon the portrait; "how came this into your possession, boy?"
"Why don't you answer, sirrah?" cried Wild, in a savage tone, and striking him with the silver staff. "Can't you speak?"
"I don't choose," replied Thames, sturdily; "and your brutality shan't make me."
"We'll see that," replied Jonathan, dealing him another and more violent blow.
"Let him alone," said Trenchard authoritatively, "I have another question to propose. Do you know whoso portrait this is?"
"I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father."
"Indeed!" exclaimed the knight, in astonishment. "Is your father alive?"
"No," returned Thames; "he was assassinated while I was an infant."
"Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard.
"My heart," rejoined Thames, firmly; "which now tells me I am in the presence of his murderer."
"That's me," interposed Jonathan; "a thief-taker is always a murderer in the eyes of a thief. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster. But I can tell you who'll have the pleasure of hanging your father's son; and that's a person not a hundred miles distant from you at this moment—ha! ha!"
As he said this, the door was opened, and Charcam entered, accompanied by a dwarfish, shabby-looking man, in a brown serge frock, with coarse Jewish features, and a long red beard. Between the Jew and the attendant came Jack Sheppard; while a crowd of servants, attracted by the news, that the investigation of a robbery was going forward, lingered at the doorway in hopes of catching something of the proceedings.
When Jack was brought in, he cast a rapid glance around him, and perceiving Thames in the custody of Jonathan, instantly divined how matters stood. As he looked in this direction, Wild gave him a significant wink, the meaning of which he was not slow to comprehend.
"Get it over quickly," said Trenchard, in a whisper to the thief-taker.
Jonathan nodded assent.
"What's your name?" he said, addressing the audacious lad, who was looking about him as coolly as if nothing material was going on.
"Jack Sheppard," returned the boy, fixing his eyes upon a portrait of the Earl of Mar. "Who's that queer cove in the full-bottomed wig?"
"Attend to me, sirrah," rejoined Wild, sternly. "Do you know this picture?" he added, with another significant look, and pointing to the miniature.
"I do," replied Jack, carelessly.
"That's well. Can you inform us whence it came?"
"I should think so."
"State the facts, then."
"It came from Lady Trafford's jewel-box."
Here a murmur of amazement arose from the assemblage outside.
"Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently.
"In my opinion, Sir Rowland," suggested Jonathan; "you'd better allow the court to remain open."
"Be it so," replied the knight, who saw the force of this reasoning. "Continue the proceedings."
"You say that the miniature was abstracted from Lady Trafford's jewel-box," said Jonathan, in a loud voice. "Who took it thence?"
"Thames Darrell; the boy at your side."
"Jack!" cried Thames, in indignant surprise.
But Sheppard took no notice of the exclamation.
A loud buzz of curiosity circulated among the domestics; some of whom—especially the females—leaned forward to obtain a peep at the culprit.
"Si—lence!" vociferated Charcam, laying great emphasis on the last syllable.
"Were you present at the time of the robbery?" pursued Jonathan.
"I was," answered Sheppard.
"And will swear to it?"
"I will."
"Liar!" ejaculated Thames.
"Enough!" exclaimed Wild, triumphantly.
"Close the court, Mr. Charcoal. They've heard quite enough for my purpose," he muttered, as his orders were obeyed, and the domestics excluded. "It's too late to carry 'em before a magistrate now, Sir Rowland; so, with your permission, I'll give 'em a night's lodging in Saint Giles's round-house. You, Jack Sheppard, have nothing to fear, as you've become evidence against your accomplice. To-morrow, I shall carry you before Justice Walters, who'll take your information; and I've no doubt but Thames Darrell will be fully committed. Now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird. Before we start, I'll accommodate you with a pair of ruffles." And he proceeded to handcuff his captive.
"Hear me!" cried Thames, bursting into tears. "I am innocent. I could not have committed this robbery. I have only just left Wych Street. Send for Mr. Wood, and you'll find that I've spoken the truth."
"You'd better hold your peace, my lad," observed Jonathan, in a menacing tone.
"Lady Trafford would not have thus condemned me!" cried Thames.
"Away with him!" exclaimed Sir Rowland, impatiently.
"Take the prisoners below, Nab," said Jonathan, addressing the dwarfish Jew; "I'll join you in an instant."
The bearded miscreant seized Jack by the waist, and Thames by the nape of the neck, and marched off, like the ogre in the fairy tale, with a boy under each arm, while Charcam brought upt the rear.
CHAPTER X.
Mother and Son.
They had scarcely been gone a moment, when a confused noise was heard without, and Charcam re-entered the room, with a countenance of the utmost bewilderment and alarm.
"What's the matter with the man?" demanded Wild.
"Her ladyship—" faltered the attendant.
"What of her?" cried the knight. "Is she returned!"
"Y—e—s, Sir Rowland," stammered Charcam.
"The devil!" ejaculated Jonathan. "Here's a cross-bite."
"But that's not all, your honour," continued Charcam; "Mrs. Norris says she's dying."
"Dying, Sir Rowland. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with spasms and short breath, and swoonings,—worse than ever she was before. And Mrs. Norris was so frightened that she ordered the postboys to drive back as fast as they could. She never expected to get her ladyship home alive."
"My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed her."
"No doubt," rejoined Wild, with a sneer; "but don't let all the world know it."
"They're lifting her out of the carriage," interposed Charcam; "will it please your honour to send for some advice and the chaplain?"
"Fly for both," returned Sir Rowland, in a tone of bitter anguish.
"Stay!" interposed Jonathan. "Where are the boys?"
"In the hall."
"Her ladyship will pass through it?"
"Of course; there's no other way."
"Then, bring them into this room, the first thing—quick! They must not meet, Sir Rowland," he added, as Charcam hastened to obey his instructions.
"Heaven has decreed it otherwise," replied the knight, dejectedly. "I yield to fate."
"Yield to nothing," returned Wild, trying to re-assure him; "above all, when your designs prosper. Man's fate is in his own hands. You are your nephew's executioner, or he is yours. Cast off this weakness. The next hour makes, or mars you for ever. Go to your sister, and do not quit her till all is over. Leave the rest to me."
Sir Rowland moved irresolutely towards the door, but recoiled before a sad spectacle. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. Borne in the arms of a couple of assistants, and preceded by Mrs. Norris, wringing her hands and wepping, the unfortunate lady was placed upon a couch. At the same time, Charcam, who seemed perfectly distracted by the recent occurrences, dragged in Thames, leaving Jack Sheppard outside in the custody of the dwarfish Jew.
"Hell's curses!" muttered Jonathan between his teeth; "that fool will ruin all. Take him away," he added, striding up to Charcam.
"Let him remain," interposed Trenchard.
"As you please, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan, with affected indifference; "but I'm not going to hunt the deer for another to eat the ven'son, depend on 't."
But seeing that no notice was taken of the retort, he drew a little aside, and folded his arms, muttering, "This whim will soon be over. She can't last long. I can pull the strings of this stiff-necked puppet as I please."
Sir Rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister, and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her forgiveness in the most passionate terms. For a few minutes, she appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. But, after some restoratives had been administered by Mrs. Norris, she revived a little.
"Rowland," she said, in a faint voice, "I have not many minutes to live. Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution. I have something that weighs heavily upon my mind."
Sir Rowland's brow darkened.
"I have sent for him," Aliva, he answered; "he will be here directly, with your medical advisers."
"They are useless," she returned. "Medicine cannot save mo now."
"Dear sister——"
"I should die happy, if I could behold my child."
"Comfort yourself, then, Aliva. You shall behold him."
"You are mocking me, Rowland. Jests are not for seasons like this."
"I am not, by Heaven," returned the knight, solemnly. "Leave us, Mrs. Norris, and do not return till Father Spencer arrives."
"Your ladyship——" hesitated Norris.
"Go!" said Lady Trafford; "it is my last request."
And her faithful attendant, drowned in tears, withdrew, followed by the two assistants.
Jonathan stepped behind a curtain.
"Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son. Where is he?"
"Within this room," replied the knight.
"Here!" shrieked Lady Trafford.
"Here," repeated her brother. "But calm yourself, dear sister, or the interview will be too much for you."
"I am calm—quite calm, Rowland," she answered, with lips whose agitation belied her words. "Then, the story of his death was false. I knew it. I was sure you could not have the heart to slay a child—an innocent child. God forgive you!"
"May He, indeed, forgive me!" returned Trenchard, crossing himself devoutly; "but my guilt is not the less heavy, because your child escaped. This hand consigned him to destruction, but another was stretched forth to save him. The infant was rescued from a watery-grave by an honest mechanic, who has since brought him up as his own son."
"Blessings upon him!" cried Lady Trafford, fervently. "But trifle with mo no longer. Moments are ages now. Let me see my child, if he is really here?"
"Behold him!" returned Trenchard, taking Thames (who had been a mute, but deeply-interested, witness of the scene) by the hand, and leading him towards her.
"Ah!" exclaimed Lady Trafford, exerting all her strength. "My sight is failing me. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. Yes!" she screamed, "these are his father's features! It is—it is my son!"
"Mother!" cried Thames; "are you, indeed, my mother?"
"I am, indeed—my own sweet boy!" she sobbed, pressing him tenderly to her breast.
"Oh!—to see you thus!" cried Thames, in an agony of affliction.
"Don't weep, my love," replied the lady, straining him still more closely to her. "I am happy—quite happy now."
During this touching interview, a change had come over Sir Rowland, and he half repented of what he had done.
"You can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, Aliva," he said.
"I dare not, Rowland," she answered. "I cannot break my vow. I will confide it to Father Spencer, who will acquaint you with it when I am no more. Undraw the curtain, love," she added to Thames, "that I may look at you."
"Ha!" exclaimed her son, starting back, as he obeyed her, and disclosed Jonathan Wild.
"Be silent," said Jonathan, in a menacing whisper.
"What have you seen?" inquired Lady Trafford.
"My enemy," replied her son.
"Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. "Sir Rowland is your uncle—he will be your guardian—he will protect you. Will you not, brother?"
"Promise," said a deep voice in Trenchard's ear.
"He will kill me," cried Thames. "There is a man in this room who seeks my life."
"Impossible!" rejoined his mother.
"Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command."
"Ah!" shrieked Lady Trafford.
"Not a moment is to be lost," whispered Jonathan to Trenchard. "His life—or yours?"
"No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. "Your uncle must protect you. It will be his interest to do so. He will be dependent on you."
"Do what you please with him," muttered Trenchard to Wild.
"Take off these chains, Rowland," said Lady Trafford, "instantly, I command you."
"I will," replied Jonathan, advancing, and rudely seizing Thames.
"Mother!" cried the son, "help!"
"What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him. "Oh, God! would you take him from me?—would you murder him?"
"His father's name?—and he is free," rejoined Rowland, holding her arms.
"Release him first—and I will disclose it!" cried Lady Trafford; "on my soul, I will!"
"Speak then!" returned Rowland.
"Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!"
Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room.
When he returned, a moment or so afterwards, he found Sir Rowland standing by the lifeless body of his sister. His countenance was almost as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side.
"This is your work," said the knight, sternly.
"Not entirely," replied Jonathan, calmly; "though I shouldn't be ashamed of it if it were. After all, you failed in obtaining the secret from her, Sir Rowland. Women are hypocrites to the last—true only to themselves."
"Peace!" cried the knight, fiercely.
"No offence," returned Jonathan. "I was merely about to observe that I am in possession of her secret."
"You!"
"Didn't I tell you that the fugitive Darrell gave me a glove! But we'll speak of this hereafter. You can purchase the information from me whenever you're so disposed. I shan't drive a hard bargain. To the point however. I came back to say, that I've placed your nephew in a coach; and, if you'll be at my lock in the Old Bailey an hour after midnight, you shall hear the last tidings of him."
"I will be there," answered Trenchard, gloomily.
"You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland—short accounts, you know."
"Fear nothing. You shall have your reward."
"Thank'ee,—thank'ee. My house is the next door to the Cooper's Arms, in the Old Bailey, opposite Newgate. You'll find me at supper."
So saying, he bowed and departed.
"That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight, sinking into a chair: "he has neither fear nor compunction. Would I could purchase his apathy as easily as I can procure his assistance."
Soon after this Mrs. Norris entered the room, followed by Father Spencer. On approaching the couch, they found Sir Rowland senseless, and extended over the dead body of his unfortunate sister.
CHAPTER XI.
The Mohocks.
Jonathan Wild, meanwhile, had quitted the house. He found a coach at the door, with the blinds carefully drawn up, and ascertained from a tall, ill-looking, though tawdrily-dressed fellow, who held his horse by the bridle, and whom he addressed as Quilt Arnold, that the two boys were safe inside, in the custody of Abraham Mendez, the dwarfish Jew. As soon as he had delivered his instructions to Quilt, who, with Abraham, constituted his body-guard, or janizaries, as he termed them, Jonathan mounted his steed, and rode off at a gallop. Quilt was not long in following his example. Springing upon the box, he told the coachman to make the best of his way to Saint Giles's. Stimulated by the promise of something handsome to drink, the man acquitted himself to admiration in the management of his lazy cattle. Crack went the whip, and away floundered the heavy vehicle through the deep ruts of the ill-kept road, or rather lane, (for it was little better,) which, then, led across Southampton Fields. Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London." Neither of the parties outside bestowed much attention upon these stately and salubriously-situated mansions; indeed, as it was now not far from ten o'clock, and quite dark, they could scarcely discern them. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving. The coachman answered by a surly grunt, and, plying his whip with redoubled zeal, shaped his course down Dyot Street; traversed that part of Holborn, which is now called Broad Street, and where two ancient alms-houses were, then, standing in the middle of that great thoroughfare, exactly opposite the opening of Compston Street; and, diving under a wide gateway on the left, soon reached a more open space, surrounded by mean habitations, coach-houses and stables, called Kendrick Yard, at the further end of which Saint Giles's round-house was situated.
No sooner did the vehicle turn the corner of this yard, than Quilt became aware, from the tumultuous sounds that reached his ears, as well as from the flashing of various lanterns at the door of the round-house, that some disturbance was going on; and, apprehensive of a rescue, if he drew up in the midst of the mob, he thought it prudent to come to a halt. Accordingly, he stopped the coach, dismounted, and hastened towards the assemblage, which, he was glad to find, consisted chiefly of a posse of watchmen and other guardians of the night. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. Not one of them but bore the marks of having been engaged in a recent and severe conflict. Quarter-staves, bludgeons, brown-bills, lanterns, swords, and sconces were alike shivered; and, to judge from the sullied state of their habiliments, the claret must have been tapped pretty freely. Never was heard such a bawling as these unfortunate wights kept up. Oaths exploded like shells from a battery in full fire, accompanied by threats of direst vengeance against the individuals who had maltreated them. Here, might be seen a poor fellow whose teeth were knocked down his throat, spluttering out the most tremendous menaces, and gesticulating like a madman: there, another, whose nose was partially slit, vented imprecations and lamentations in the same breath. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm.
"So, the Mohocks have been at work, I perceive," remarked Quilt, as he drew near the group.
"'Faith, an' you may say that," returned a watchman, who was wiping a ruddy stream from his brow; "they've broken the paice, and our pates into the bargain. But shurely I'd know that vice," he added, turning his lantern towards the janizary. "Ah! Quilt Arnold, my man, is it you? By the powers! I'm glad to see you. The sight o' your 'andsome phiz allys does me good."
"I wish I could return the compliment, Terry. But your cracked skull is by no means a pleasing spectacle. How came you by the hurt, eh?"
"How did I come by it?—that's a nate question. Why, honestly enouch. It was lent me by a countryman o' mine; but I paid him back in his own coin—ha! ha!"
"A countryman of yours, Terry?"
"Ay, and a noble one, too, Quilt—more's the pity! You've heard of the Marquis of Slaughterford, belike?"
"Of course; who has not? He's the leader of the Mohocks, the general of the Scourers, the prince of rakes, the friend of the surgeons and glaziers, the terror of your tribe, and the idol of the girls!"
"That's him to a hair?" cried Terence, rapturously. "Och! he's a broth of a boy!"
"Why, I thought he'd broken your head, Terry?"
"Phooh! that's nothing? A piece o' plaster'll set all to rights; and Terry O'Flaherty's not the boy to care for the stroke of a supple-jack. Besides, didn't I tell you that I giv' him as good as he brought—and better! I jist touched him with my 'Evenin' Star,' as I call this shillelah," said the watchman, flourishing an immense bludgeon, the knob of which appeared to be loaded with lead, "and, by Saint Patrick! down he cum'd like a bullock."
"Zounds!" exclaimed Quilt, "did you kill him?"
"Not quite," replied Terence, laughing; "but I brought him to his senses."
"By depriving him of 'em, eh! But I'm sorry you hurt his lordship, Terry. Young noblemen ought to be indulged in their frolics. If they do, now and then, run away with a knocker, paint a sign, beat the watch, or huff a magistrate, they pay for their pastime, and that's sufficient. What more could any reasonable man—especially a watchman—desire? Besides, the Marquis, is a devilish fine fellow, and a particular friend of mine. There's not his peer among the peerage."
"Och! if he's a friend o' yours, my dear joy, there's no more to be said; and right sorry am I, I struck him. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another."
"Well, well—wait awhile," returned Quilt; "his lordship won't forget you. He's as generous as he's frolicsome."
As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold.
"There's Sharples," cried Quilt.
"Whist!" exclaimed Terence; "he elevates his glim. By Jasus! he's about to spake to us."
"Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford——"
Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night.
"No Mohocks! No Scourers!" cried the mob.
"Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt.
"His lordship desires me to say—ough! ough!"
"Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause.
"By all means," rejoined Quilt.
"Raise your vice, and lave off coughin'," added Terence.
"The long and the short o' the matter's this then," returned Sharples with dignity, "the Markis begs your acceptance o' ten guineas to drink his health."
The hooting was instantaneously changed to cheers.
"And his lordship, furthermore, requests me to state," proceeded Sharples, in a hoarse tone, "that he'll be responsible for the doctors' bill of all such gem'men as have received broken pates, or been otherwise damaged in the fray—ough! ough!"
"Hurrah!" shouted the mob.
"We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices.
"Ay, good luck to him! so we have," rejoined Terence; "but we've no objection to take out the dochter's bill in drink."
"None whatever," replied the mob.
"Your answer, gem'men?" demanded Sharples.
"Long life to the Markis, and we accept his honourable proposal," responded the mob.
"Long life to the Marquis!" reiterated Terence; "he's an honour to ould Ireland!"
"Didn't I tell you how it would be?" remarked Quilt.
"Troth, and so did you," returned the watchman; "but I couldn't belave it. In futur', I'll keep the 'Evenin' Star' for his lordship's enemies."
"You'd better," replied Quilt. "But bring your glim this way. I've a couple of kinchens in yonder rattler, whom I wish to place under old Sharples's care."
"Be handy, then," rejoined Terence, "or, I'll lose my share of the smart money."
With the assistance of Terence, and a linkboy who volunteered his services, Quilt soon removed the prisoners from the coach, and leaving Sheppard to the custody of Abraham, proceeded to drag Thames towards the round-house. Not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road. Whenever Jack attempted to speak, he was checked by an angry growl from Abraham; and Thames, though his heart was full almost to bursting, felt no inclination to break the silence. His thoughts, indeed, were too painful for utterance, and so acute were his feelings, that, for some time, they quite overcame him. But his grief was of short duration. The elastic spirits of youth resumed their sway; and, before the coach stopped, his tears had ceased to flow. As to Jack Sheppard, he appeared utterly reckless and insensible, and did nothing but whistle and sing the whole way.
While he was dragged along in the manner just described, Thames looked around to ascertain, if possible, where he was; for he did not put entire faith in Jonathan's threat of sending him to the round-house, and apprehensive of something even worse than imprisonment. The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. He recognised this object at once. Jonathan had not deceived him.
"What's this here kinchen in for?" asked Terence, as he and Quilt strode along, with Thames between them.
"What for?" rejoined Quilt, evasively.
"Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence. "By the powers!" he added, turning his lantern full upon the face of the captive, "he's a nice genn-teel-lookin' kiddy, I must say. Pity he's ta'en to bad ways so airly."
"You may spare me your compassion, friend," observed Thames; "I am falsely detained."
"Of course," rejoined Quilt, maliciously; "every thief is so. If we were to wait till a prig was rightfully nabbed, we might tarry till doomsday. We never supposed you helped yourself to a picture set with diamonds—not we!"
"Is the guv'ner consarned in this job?" asked Terence, in a whisper.
"He is," returned Quilt, significantly. "Zounds! what's that!" he cried, as the noise of a scuffle was heard behind them. "The other kid's given my partner the slip. Here, take this youngster, Terry; my legs are lighter than old Nab's." And, committing Thames to the care of the watchman, he darted after the fugitive.
"Do you wish to earn a rich reward, my good friend?" said Thames to the watchman, as soon as they were left alone.
"Is it by lettin' you go, my darlin', that I'm to airn it?" inquired Terence. "If so, it won't pay. You're Mister Wild's pris'ner, and worse luck to it!"
"I don't ask you to liberate me," urged Thames; "but will you convey a message for me?"
"Where to, honey?"
"To Mr. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. He lives near the Black Lion."
"The Black Lion!" echoed Terence. "I know the house well; by the same token that it's a flash crib. Och! many a mug o' bubb have I drained wi' the landlord, Joe Hind. And so Misther Wudd lives near the Black Lion, eh?"
"He does," replied Thames. "Tell him that I—his adopted son, Thames Darrell—am detained here by Jonathan Wild."
"Thames Ditton—is that your name?"
"No," replied the boy, impatiently; "Darrell—Thames Darrell."
"I'll not forget it. It's a mighty quare 'un, though. I never yet heard of a Christians as was named after the Shannon or the Liffy; and the Thames is no better than a dhurty puddle, compared wi' them two noble strames. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. People do call their unlawful children strange names. Are you quite shure you haven't another alyas, Masther Thames Ditton?"
"Darrell, I tell you. Will you go? You'll be paid handsomely for your trouble."
"I don't mind the throuble," hesitated Terence, who was really a good-hearted fellow at the bottom; "and I'd like to sarve you if I could, for you look like a gentleman's son, and that goes a great way wi' me. But if Misther Wild were to find out that I thwarted his schames——"
"I'd not be in your skin for a trifle," interrupted Quilt, who having secured Sheppard, and delivered him to Abraham, now approached them unawares; "and it shan't be my fault if he don't hear of it."
"'Ouns!" ejaculated Terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?"
"Ay, if he plays a-cross," returned Quilt. "Come along, my sly shaver. With all your cunning, we're more than a match for you."
"But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone.
"Remember!" cried Quilt, as he forced the captive along.
"Remember the devil!" retorted Terence, who had recovered his natural audacity. "Do you think I'm afeard of a beggarly thief-taker and his myrmidons? Not I. Master Thames Ditton, I'll do your biddin'; and you, Misther Quilt Arnold, may do your worst, I defy you."
"Dog!" exclaimed Quilt, turning fiercely upon him, "do you threaten?"
But the watchman eluded his grasp, and, mingling with the crowd, disappeared.
CHAPTER XII.
Saint Giles's Round-house.
Saint Giles's Round-house was an old detached fabric, standing in an angle of Kendrick Yard. Originally built, as its name imports, in a cylindrical form, like a modern Martello tower, it had undergone, from time to time, so many alterations, that its symmetry was, in a great measure, destroyed. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end,—a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. The prison was two stories high, with a flat roof surmounted by a gilt vane fashioned like a key; and, possessing considerable internal accommodation, it had, in its day, lodged some thousands of disorderly personages. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. Lights gleamed from the lower rooms, and, on a nearer approach to the building, the sound of revelry might be heard from within.
Warned of the approach of the prisoners by the increased clamour, Sharples, who was busied in distributing the Marquis's donation, affected to throw the remainder of the money among the crowd, though, in reality, he kept back a couple of guineas, which he slipped into his sleeve, and running hastily up the steps, unlocked the door. He was followed, more leisurely, by the prisoners; and, during their ascent, Jack Sheppard made a second attempt to escape by ducking suddenly down, and endeavouring to pass under his conductor's legs. The dress of the dwarfish Jew was not, however, favourable to this expedient. Jack was caught, as in a trap, by the pendant tails of Abraham's long frock; and, instead of obtaining his release by his ingenuity, he only got a sound thrashing.
Sharples received them at the threshold, and holding his lantern towards the prisoners to acquaint himself with their features, nodded to Quilt, between whom and himself some secret understanding seemed to subsist, and then closed and barred the door.
"Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?"
"To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. What of that?"
"Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. Vot am I to do vith these young imps, eh?"
"What you generally do with your prisoners, Mr. Sharples," replied Quilt; "lock 'em up."
"That's easily said. But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?"
Quilt looked a little perplexed. He passed his arm under that of the constable, and drew him aside.
"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. But it's confounded inconvenient. One don't often get sich a vindfal as the Markis——"
"Or such a customer as Mr. Wild," edged in Quilt.
"Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?"
"Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?"
"One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. "So, stir your stumps, Saint Giles; and, if you mean to lock us up, use despatch."
"Comin'! comin'!" returned the constable, shuffling towards him.
"Coming!—so is midnight—so is Jonathan Wild," retorted Jack, with a significant look at Thames.
"Have you never an out-o-the-vay corner, into vich you could shtow these troublesome warmint?" observed Abraham. "The guv'ner'll be here afore midnight."
Darrell's attention was drawn to the latter part of this speech by a slight pressure on his foot. And, turning at the touch, he perceived Sheppard's glance fixed meaningly upon him.
"Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake."
"Awake!—to be sure I am, my flash cove," replied Sheppard; "I'm down as a hammer."
"I've just bethought me of a crib as'll serve their turn," interposed Sharples, "at any rate, they'll be out o' the vay, and as safe as two chicks in a coop."
"Lead the way to it then, Saint Giles," said Jack, in a tone of mock authority.
The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. A door led to the inner room; and it was evident from the peals of merriment, and other noises, that, ever and anon, resounded from within, that this chamber was occupied by the Marquis and his friends. Against the walls hung an assortment of staves, brown-bills, (weapons then borne by the watch,) muskets, handcuffs, great-coats, and lanterns. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. Towards this box Sharples directed his steps, and, unlocking a hatch in the door, disclosed a recess scarcely as large, and certainly not as clean, as a dog-kennel.
"Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. I have squeezed three kids into it afore now. To be sure," he added, lowering his tone, "they wos little 'uns, and one on 'em was smothered—ough! ough!—how this cough chokes me!"
Sheppard, meanwhile, whose hands were at liberty, managed to possess himself, unperceived, of the spike of a halbert, which was lying, apart from the pole, upon a bench near him. Having secured this implement, he burst from his conductor, and, leaping into the hatch, as clowns generally spring into the clock-faces, when in pursuit of harlequin in the pantomime,—that is, back foremost,—broke into a fit of loud and derisive laughter, kicking his heels merrily all the time against the boards. His mirth, however, received an unpleasant check; for Abraham, greatly incensed by his previous conduct, caught him by the legs, and pushed him with such violence into the hole that the point of the spike, which he had placed in his pocket, found its way through his clothes to the flesh, inflicting a slight, but painful wound. Jack, who had something of the Spartan in his composition, endured his martyrdom without flinching; and carried his stoical indifference so far, as even to make a mocking grimace in Sharples's face, while that amiable functionary thrust Thames into the recess beside him.
"How go you like your quarters, sauce-box?" asked Sharples, in a jeering tone.
"Better than your company, Saint Giles," replied Sheppard; "so, shut the door, and make yourself scarce."
"That boy'll never rest till he finds his vay to Bridewell," observed Sharples.
"Or the street," returned Jack: "mind my words, the prison's not built that can keep me."
"We'll see that, young hempseed," replied Sharples, shutting the hatch furiously in his face, and locking it. "If you get out o' that cage, I'll forgive you. Now, come along, gem'men, and I'll show you some precious sport."
The two janizaries followed him as far as the entrance to the inner room, when Abraham, raising his finger to his lips, and glancing significantly in the direction of the boys, to explain his intention to his companions, closed the door after them, and stole softly back again, planting himself near the recess.
For a few minutes all was silent. At length Jack Sheppard observed:—"The coast's clear. They're gone into the next room."
Darrell returned no answer.
"Don't be angry with me, Thames," continued Sheppard, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to appease his companion's indignation. "I did all for the best, as I'll explain."
"I won't reproach you, Jack," said the other, sternly. "I've done with you."
"Not quite, I hope," rejoined Sheppard. "At all events, I've not done with you. If you owe your confinement to me, you shall owe your liberation to me, also."
"I'd rather lie here for ever, than be indebted to you for my freedom," returned Thames.
"I've done nothing to offend you," persisted Jack. "Nothing!" echoed the other, scornfully. "You've perjured yourself."
"That's my own concern," rejoined Sheppard. "An oath weighs little with me, compared with your safety."
"No more of this," interrupted Thames, "you make the matter worse by these excuses."
"Quarrel with me as much as you please, Thames, but hear me," returned Sheppard. "I took the course I pursued to serve you."
"Tush!" cried Thames; "you accused me to skreen yourself."
"On my soul, Thames, you wrong me!" replied Jack, passionately. "I'd lay down my life for yours."
"And you expect me to believe you after what has passed?"
"I do; and, more than that, I expect you to thank me."
"For procuring my imprisonment?"
"For saving your life."
"How?"
"Listen to me, Thames. You're in a more serious scrape than you imagine. I overheard Jonathan Wild's instructions to Quilt Arnold, and though he spoke in slang, and in an under tone, my quick ears, and acquaintance with the thieves' lingo, enabled me to make out every word he uttered. Jonathan is in league with Sir Rowland to make away with you. You are brought here that their designs may be carried into effect with greater security. Before morning, unless, we can effect an escape, you'll be kidnapped, or murdered, and your disappearance attributed to the negligence of the constable."
"Are you sure of this?" asked Thames, who, though as brave a lad as need be, could not repress a shudder at the intelligence.
"Certain. The moment I entered the room, and found you a prisoner in the hands of Jonathan Wild, I guessed how matters stood, and acted accordingly. Things haven't gone quite as smoothly as I anticipated; but they might have been worse. I can save you, and will. But, say we're friends."
"You're not deceiving me!" said Thames, doubtfully.
"I am not, by Heaven!" replied Sheppard, firmly.
"Don't swear, Jack, or I shall distrust you. I can't give you my hand; but you may take it."
"Thank you! thank you!" faltered Jack, in a voice full of emotion. "I'll soon free you from these bracelets."
"You needn't trouble yourself," replied Thames. "Mr. Wood will be here presently."
"Mr. Wood!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise. "How have you managed to communicate with him?"
Abraham, who had listened attentively to the foregoing conversation,—not a word of which escaped him,—now drew in his breath, and brought his ear closer to the boards.
"By means of the watchman who had the charge of me," replied Thames.
"Curse him!" muttered Abraham.
"Hist!" exclaimed Jack. "I thought I heard a noise. Speak lower. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew."