knight, and chuckling, "the devil never deserts me."

"Conduct me to your dwelling, Sir, without further delay," said
Trenchard, sternly,--"to the boy."

"The boy's not at my house," replied Wild.

"Where is he, then?" demanded the other, hastily.

"At a place we call the Dark House at Queenhithe," answered Jonathan, "a
sort of under-ground tavern or night-cellar, close to the river-side,
and frequented by the crew of the Dutch skipper, to whose care he's to
be committed. You need have no apprehensions about him, Sir Rowland.
He's safe enough now. I left him in charge of Quilt Arnold and Rykhart
Van Galgebrok--the skipper I spoke of--with strict orders to shoot him
if he made any further attempt at escape; and they're not lads--the
latter especially--to be trifled with. I deemed it more prudent to send
him to the Dark House than to bring him here, in case of any search
after him by his adoptive father--the carpenter Wood. If you choose, you
can see him put on board the Zeeslang yourself, Sir Rowland. But,
perhaps, you'll first accompany me to my dwelling for a moment, that we
may arrange our accounts before we start. I've a few necessary
directions to leave with my people, to put 'em on their guard against
the chance of a surprise. Suffer me to precede you. This way, Sir
Rowland."

The thief-taker's residence was a large dismal-looking, habitation,
separated from the street by a flagged court-yard, and defended from
general approach by an iron railing. Even in the daylight, it had a
sombre and suspicious air, and seemed to slink back from the adjoining
houses, as if afraid of their society. In the obscurity in which it was
now seen, it looked like a prison, and, indeed, it was Jonathan's fancy
to make it resemble one as much as possible. The windows were grated,
the doors barred; each room had the name as well as the appearance of a
cell; and the very porter who stood at the gate, habited like a jailer,
with his huge bunch of keys at his girdle, his forbidding countenance
and surly demeanour seemed to be borrowed from Newgate. The clanking of
chains, the grating of locks, and the rumbling of bolts must have been
music in Jonathan's ears, so much pains did he take to subject himself
to such sounds. The scanty furniture of the rooms corresponded with
their dungeon-like aspect. The walls were bare, and painted in
stone-colour; the floors, devoid of carpet; the beds, of hangings; the
windows, of blinds; and, excepting in the thief-taker's own
audience-chamber, there was not a chair or a table about the premises;
the place of these conveniences being elsewhere supplied by benches, and
deal-boards laid across joint-stools. Great stone staircases leading no
one knew whither, and long gloomy passages, impressed the occasional
visitor with the idea that he was traversing a building of vast extent;
and, though this was not the case in reality, the deception was so
cleverly contrived that it seldom failed of producing the intended
effect. Scarcely any one entered Mr. Wild's dwelling without
apprehension, or quitted it without satisfaction. More strange stories
were told of it than of any other house in London. The garrets were said
to be tenanted by coiners, and artists employed in altering watches and
jewelry; the cellars to be used as a magazine for stolen goods. By some
it was affirmed that a subterranean communication existed between the
thief-taker's abode and Newgate, by means of which he was enabled to
maintain a secret correspondence with the imprisoned felons: by others,
that an under-ground passage led to extensive vaults, where such
malefactors as he chose to screen from justice might lie concealed till
the danger was blown over. Nothing, in short, was too extravagant to be
related of it; and Jonathan, who delighted in investing himself and his
residence with mystery, encouraged, and perhaps originated, these
marvellous tales. However this may be, such was the ill report of the
place that few passed along the Old Bailey without bestowing a glance of
fearful curiosity at its dingy walls, and wondering what was going on
inside them; while fewer still, of those who paused at the door, read,
without some internal trepidation, the formidable name--inscribed in
large letters on its bright brass-plate--of JONATHAN WILD.

Arrived at his habitation, Jonathan knocked in a peculiar manner at the
door, which was instantly opened by the grim-visaged porter just alluded
to. No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking
was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment,
a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him.
The knight stood upon his defence; but he would unquestionably have been
torn in pieces by the savage hounds, if a shower of oaths, seconded by a
vigorous application of kicks and blows from their master, had not
driven them growling off. Apologizing to Sir Rowland for this unpleasant
reception, and swearing lustily at his servant for occasioning it by
leaving the dogs at liberty, Jonathan ordered the man to light them to
the audience-room. The command was sullenly obeyed, for the fellow did
not appear to relish the rating. Ascending the stairs, and conducting
them along a sombre gallery, in which Trenchard noticed that every door
was painted black, and numbered, he stopped at the entrance of a
chamber; and, selecting a key from the bunch at his girdle, unlocked it.
Following his guide, Sir Rowland found himself in a large and lofty
apartment, the extent of which he could not entirely discern until
lights were set upon the table. He then looked around him with some
curiosity; and, as the thief-taker was occupied in giving directions to
his attendant in an undertone, ample leisure was allowed him for
investigation. At the first glance, he imagined he must have stumbled
upon a museum of rarities, there were so many glass-cases, so many open
cabinets, ranged against the walls; but the next convinced him that if
Jonathan was a virtuoso, his tastes did not run in the ordinary
channels. Trenchard was tempted to examine the contents of some of these
cases, but a closer inspection made him recoil from them in disgust. In
the one he approached was gathered together a vast assortment of
weapons, each of which, as appeared from the ticket attached to it, had
been used as an instrument of destruction. On this side was a razor with
which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted
with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which
a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. As it is not, however, our
intention to furnish a complete catalogue of these curiosities, we shall
merely mention that in front of them lay a large and sharp knife, once
the property of the public executioner, and used by him to dissever the
limbs of those condemned to death for high-treason; together with an
immense two-pronged flesh-fork, likewise employed by the same terrible
functionary to plunge the quarters of his victims in the caldrons of
boiling tar and oil. Every gibbet at Tyburn and Hounslow appeared to
have been plundered of its charnel spoil to enrich the adjoining
cabinet, so well was it stored with skulls and bones, all purporting to
be the relics of highwaymen famous in their day. Halters, each of which
had fulfilled its destiny, formed the attraction of the next
compartment; while a fourth was occupied by an array of implements of
housebreaking almost innumerable, and utterly indescribable. All these
interesting objects were carefully arranged, classed, and, as we have
said, labelled by the thief-taker. From this singular collection
Trenchard turned to regard its possessor, who was standing at a little
distance from him, still engaged in earnest discourse with his
attendant, and, as he contemplated his ruthless countenance, on which
duplicity and malignity had set their strongest seals, he could not help
calling to mind all he had heard of Jonathan's perfidiousness to his
employers, and deeply regretting that he had placed himself in the power
of so unscrupulous a miscreant.

Jonathan Wild, at this time, was on the high-road to the greatness which
he subsequently, and not long afterwards, obtained. He was fast rising
to an eminence that no one of his nefarious profession ever reached
before him, nor, it is to be hoped, will ever reach again. He was the
Napoleon of knavery, and established an uncontrolled empire over all the
practitioners of crime. This was no light conquest; nor was it a
government easily maintained. Resolution, severity, subtlety, were
required for it; and these were qualities which Jonathan possessed in an
extraordinary degree. The danger or difficulty of an exploit never
appalled him. What his head conceived his hand executed. Professing to
stand between the robber and the robbed, he himself plundered both. He
it was who formed the grand design of a robber corporation, of which he
should be the sole head and director, with the right of delivering those
who concealed their booty, or refused to share it with him, to the
gallows. He divided London into districts; appointed a gang to each
district; and a leader to each gang, whom he held responsible to
himself. The country was partitioned in a similar manner. Those whom he
retained about his person, or placed in offices of trust, were for the
most part convicted felons, who, having returned from transportation
before their term had expired, constituted, in his opinion, the safest
agents, inasmuch as they could neither be legal evidences against him,
nor withhold any portion of the spoil of which he chose to deprive them.
But the crowning glory of Jonathan, that which raised him above all his
predecessors in iniquity, and clothed this name with undying
notoriety--was to come. When in the plenitude of his power, he commenced
a terrible trade, till then unknown--namely, a traffic in human blood.
This he carried on by procuring witnesses to swear away the lives of
those persons who had incurred his displeasure, or whom it might be
necessary to remove.

No wonder that Trenchard, as he gazed at this fearful being, should have
some misgivings cross him.

Apparently, Jonathan perceived he was an object of scrutiny; for,
hastily dismissing his attendant, he walked towards the knight.

"So, you're admiring my cabinet, Sir Rowland," he remarked, with a
sinister smile; "it _is_ generally admired; and, sometimes by parties
who afterwards contribute to the collection themselves,--ha! ha! This
skull," he added, pointing to a fragment of mortality in the case beside
them, "once belonged to Tom Sheppard, the father of the lad I spoke of
just now. In the next box hangs the rope by which he suffered. When I've
placed another skull and another halter beside them, I shall be
contented."

"To business, Sir!" said the knight, with a look of abhorrence.

"Ay, to business," returned Jonathan, grinning, "the sooner the better."

"Here is the sum you bargained for," rejoined Trenchard, flinging a
pocket-book on the table; "count it."

Jonathan's eyes glistened as he told over the notes.

"You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he
had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. There's a hundred
pounds too much."

"Keep it," said Trenchard, haughtily.

"I'll place it to your account, Sir Rowland," answered the thief-taker,
smiling significantly. "And now, shall we proceed to Queenhithe?"

"Stay!" cried the other, taking a chair, "a word with you, Mr. Wild."

"As many as you please, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan, resuming his
seat. "I'm quite at your disposal."

"I have a question to propose to you," said Trenchard, "relating to--"
and he hesitated.

"Relating to the father of the boy--Thames Darrell," supplied Jonathan.
"I guessed what was coming. You desire to know who he was, Sir Rowland.
Well, you _shall_ know."

"Without further fee?" inquired the knight.

"Not exactly," answered Jonathan, drily. "A secret is too valuable a
commodity to be thrown away. But I said I wouldn't drive a hard bargain
with you, and I won't. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing
the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and
what you confide to me shall never transpire,--at least to your
disadvantage."

"I am at a loss to understand you Sir,", said Trenchard.

"I'll make myself intelligible before I've done," rejoined Wild. "I need
not remind you, Sir Rowland, that I am aware you are deeply implicated
in the Jacobite plot which is now known to be hatching."

"Ha!" ejaculated the other.

"Of course, therefore," pursued Jonathan, "you are acquainted with all
the leaders of the proposed insurrection,--nay, must be in
correspondence with them."

"What right have you to suppose this, Sir?" demanded Trenchard, sternly.

"Have a moment's patience, Sir Rowland," returned Wild; "and you shall
hear. If you will furnish me with a list of these rebels, and with
proofs of their treason, I will not only insure your safety, but will
acquaint you with the real name and rank of your sister Aliva's husband,
as well as with some particulars which will never otherwise reach your
ears, concerning your lost sister, Constance."

"My sister Constance!" echoed the knight; "what of her?"

"You agree to my proposal, then?" said Jonathan.

"Do you take me for as great a villain as yourself, Sir?" said the
knight, rising.

"I took you for one who wouldn't hesitate to avail himself of any
advantage chance might throw in his way," returned the thief-taker,
coldly. "I find I was in error. No matter. A time _may_ come,--and that
ere long,--when you will be glad to purchase my secrets, and your own
safety, at a dearer price than the heads of your companions."

"Are you ready?" said Trenchard, striding towards the door.

"I am," replied Jonathan, following him, "and so," he added in an
undertone, "are your captors."

A moment afterwards, they quitted the house.

CHAPTER XVII.

The Night-Cellar.

After a few minutes' rapid walking, during which neither party uttered a
word, Jonathan Wild and his companion had passed Saint Paul's, dived
down a thoroughfare on the right, and reached Thames Street.

At the period of this history, the main streets of the metropolis were
but imperfectly lighted, while the less-frequented avenues were left in
total obscurity; but, even at the present time, the maze of courts and
alleys into which Wild now plunged, would have perplexed any one, not
familiar with their intricacies, to thread them on a dark night.
Jonathan, however, was well acquainted with the road. Indeed, it was his
boast that he could find his way through any part of London blindfolded;
and by this time, it would seem, he had nearly arrived at his
destination; for, grasping his companion's arm, he led him along a
narrow entry which did not appear to have an outlet, and came to a halt.
Cautioning the knight, if he valued his neck, to tread carefully,
Jonathan then descended a steep flight of steps; and, having reached the
bottom in safety, he pushed open a door, that swung back on its hinges
as soon as it had admitted him; and, followed by Trenchard, entered the
night-cellar.

The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure
the cabin of a ship. It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported
by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man
like himself to stand erect beneath it. Notwithstanding the heat of the
season,--which was not, however, found particularly inconvenient in this
subterranean region,--a large heaped-up fire blazed ruddily in one
corner, and lighted up a circle of as villanous countenances as ever
flame shone upon.

The guests congregated within the night-cellar were, in fact, little
better than thieves; but thieves who confined their depredations almost
exclusively to the vessels lying in the pool and docks of the river.
They had as many designations as grades. There were game watermen and
game lightermen, heavy horsemen and light horsemen, scuffle-hunters, and
long-apron men, lumpers, journeymen coopers, mud-larks, badgers, and
ratcatchers--a race of dangerous vermin recently, in a great measure,
extirpated by the vigilance of the Thames Police, but at this period
flourishing in vast numbers. Besides these plunderers, there were others
with whom the disposal of their pillage necessarily brought them into
contact, and who seldom failed to attend them during their hours of
relaxation and festivity;--to wit, dealers in junk, old rags, and marine
stores, purchasers of prize-money, crimps, and Jew receivers. The latter
formed by far the most knavish-looking and unprepossessing portion of
the assemblage. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat
frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by
their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their
coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be
told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate.

The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost
as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives
above-mentioned, Mrs. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm
nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her
upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in
the King's service. This lady was singularly lucky in her matrimonial
connections. She had been married four times: three of her husbands died
of hempen fevers; and the fourth, having been twice condemned, was saved
from the noose by Jonathan Wild, who not only managed to bring him off,
but to obtain for him the situation of under-turnkey in Newgate.

On the appearance of the thief-taker, Mrs. Spurling was standing near
the fire superintending some culinary preparation; but she no sooner
perceived him, than hastily quitting her occupation, she elbowed a way
for him and the knight through the crowd, and ushered them, with much
ceremony, into an inner room, where they found the objects of their
search, Quilt Arnold and Rykhart Van Galgebrok, seated at a small table,
quietly smoking. This service rendered, without waiting for any farther
order, she withdrew.

Both the janizary and the skipper arose as the others entered the room.

"This is the gentleman," observed Jonathan, introducing Trenchard to the
Hollander, "who is about to intrust his young relation to your care."

"De gentleman may rely on my showing his relation all de attention in my
power," replied Van Galgebrok, bowing profoundly to the knight; "but if
any unforseen accident--such as a slip overboard--should befal de jonker
on de voyage, he mushn't lay de fault entirely on my shoulders--haw!
haw!"

"Where is he?" asked Sir Rowland, glancing uneasily around. "I do not
see him."

"De jonker. He's here," returned the skipper, pointing significantly
downwards. "Bring him out, Quilt."

So saying, he pushed aside the table, and the janizary stooping down,
undrew a bolt and opened a trap-door.

"Come out!" roared Quilt, looking into the aperture. "You're wanted."

But as no answer was returned, he trust his arm up to the shoulder into
the hole, and with some little difficulty and exertion of strength, drew
forth Thames Darrell.

The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale,
but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm.

"Why didn't you come out when I called you, you young dog?" cried Quilt
in a savage tone.

"Because I knew what you wanted me for!" answered Thames firmly.

"Oh! you did, did you?" said the janizary. "And what do you suppose we
mean to do with you, eh?"

"You mean to kill me," replied Thames, "by my cruel uncle's command. Ah!
there he stands!" he exclaimed as his eye fell for the first time upon
Sir Rowland. "Where is my mother?" he added, regarding the knight with a
searching glance.

"Your mother is dead," interposed Wild, scowling.

"Dead!" echoed the boy. "Oh no--no! You say this to terrify me--to try
me. But I will not believe you. Inhuman as he is, he would not kill her.
Tell me, Sir," he added, advancing towards the knight, "tell me has this
man spoken falsely?--Tell me my mother is alive, and do what you please
with me."

"Tell him so, and have done with him, Sir Rowland," observed Jonathan
coldly.

"Tell me the truth, I implore you," cried Thames. "Is she alive?"

"She is not," replied Trenchard, overcome by conflicting emotions, and
unable to endure the boy's agonized look.

"Are you answered?" said Jonathan, with a grin worthy of a demon.

"My mother!--my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees,
and bursting into tears. "Shall I never see that sweet face
again,--never feel the pressure of those kind hands more--nor listen to
that gentle voice! Ah! yes, we shall meet again in Heaven, where I shall
speedily join you. Now then," he added more calmly, "I am ready to die.
The only mercy you can show me is to kill me."

"Then we won't even show you that mercy," retorted the thief-taker
brutally. "So get up, and leave off whimpering. Your time isn't come
yet."

"Mr. Wild," said Trenchard, "I shall proceed no further in this
business. Set the boy free."

"If I disobey you, Sir Rowland," replied the thief-taker, "you'll thank
me for it hereafter. Gag him," he added, pushing Thames rudely toward
Quilt Arnold, "and convey him to the boat."

"A word," cried the boy, as the janizary was preparing to obey his
master's orders. "What has become of Jack Sheppard?"

"Devil knows!" answered Quilt; "but I believe he's in the hands of
Blueskin, so there's no doubt he'll soon be on the high-road to Tyburn."

"Poor Jack!" sighed Thames. "You needn't gag me," he added, "I'll not
cry out."

"We won't trust you, my youngster," answered the janizary. And,
thrusting a piece of iron into his mouth, he forced him out of the room.

Sir Rowland witnessed these proceedings like one stupified. He neither
attempted to prevent his nephew's departure, nor to follow him.

Jonathan kept his keen eye fixed upon him, as he addressed himself for a
moment to the Hollander.

"Is the case of watches on board?" he asked in an under tone.

"Ja," replied the skipper.

"And the rings?"

"Ja."

"That's well. You must dispose of the goldsmith's note I gave you
yesterday, as soon as you arrive at Rotterdam. It'll be advertised
to-morrow."

"De duivel!" exclaimed Van Galgebrok, "Very well. It shall be done as
you direct. But about dat jonker," he continued, lowering his voice;
"have you anything to add consarnin' him? It's almosht a pity to put him
onder de water."

"Is the sloop ready to sail?" asked Wild, without noticing the skipper's
remark.

"Ja," answered Van; "at a minut's nodish."

"Here are your despatches," said Jonathan with a significant look, and
giving him a sealed packet. "Open them when you get on board--not
before, and act as they direct you."

"I ondershtand," replied the skipper, putting his finger to his nose;
"it shall be done."

"Sir Rowland," said Jonathan, turning to the knight, "will it please you
to remain here till I return, or will you accompany us?"

"I will go with you," answered Trenchard, who, by this time, had
regained his composure, and with it all his relentlessness of purpose.

"Come, then," said Wild, marching towards the door, "we've no time to
lose."

Quitting the night-cellar, the trio soon arrived at the riverside. Quilt
Arnold was stationed at the stair-head, near which the boat containing
the captive boy was moored. A few words passed between him and the
thief-taker as the latter came up; after which, all the party--with the
exception of Quilt, who was left on shore--embarked within the wherry,
which was pushed from the strand and rowed swiftly along the stream--for
the tide was in its favour--by a couple of watermen. Though scarcely two
hours past midnight, it was perfectly light. The moon had arisen, and
everything could be as plainly distinguished as during the day. A thin
mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly
look. As they approached London Bridge, the thief-taker whispered Van
Galgebrok, who acted as steersman, to make for a particular arch--near
the Surrey shore. The skipper obeyed, and in another moment, they swept
through the narrow lock. While the watermen were contending with the
eddies occasioned by the fall below the bridge, Jonathan observed a
perceptible shudder run through Trenchard's frame.

"You remember that starling, Sir Rowland," he said maliciously, "and
what occurred on it, twelve years ago?"

"Too well," answered the knight, frowning. "Ah! what is that?" he cried,
pointing to a dark object floating near them amid the boiling waves, and
which presented a frightful resemblance to a human face.

"We'll see," returned the thief-taker. And, stretching out his hand, he
lifted the dark object from the flood.

It proved to be a human head, though with scarcely a vestige of the
features remaining. Here and there, patches of flesh adhered to the
bones, and the dank dripping hair hanging about what had once been the
face, gave it a ghastly appearance.

"It's the skull of a _rebel_," said Jonathan, with marked emphasis on
the word, "blown by the wind from a spike on the bridge above us. I
don't know whose brainless head it may be, but it'll do for my
collection." And he tossed it carelessly into the bottom of the boat.

After this occurence, not a word was exchanged between them until they
came in sight of the sloop, which was lying at anchor off Wapping.
Arrived at her side, it was soon evident, from the throng of seamen in
Dutch dresses that displayed themselves, that her crew were on the
alert, and a rope having been thrown down to the skipper, he speedily
hoisted himself on deck. Preparations were next made for taking Thames
on board. Raising him in his arms, Jonathan passed the rope round his
body, and in this way the poor boy was drawn up without difficulty.

While he was swinging in mid air, Thames regarded his uncle with a stern
look, and cried in a menacing voice, "We shall meet again."

"Not in this world," returned Jonathan. "Weigh anchor, Van!" he shouted
to the skipper, "and consult your despatches."

"Ja--ja," returned the Hollander. And catching hold of Thames, he
quitted the deck.

Shortly afterwards, he re-appeared with the information that the captive
was safe below; and giving the necessary directions to his crew, before
many minutes had elapsed, the Zeeslang spread her canvass to the first
breeze of morning.

By the thief-taker's command, the boat was then rowed toward a muddy
inlet, which has received in more recent times the name of Execution
Dock. As soon as she reached this spot, Wild sprang ashore, and was
joined by several persons,--among whom was Quilt Arnold, leading a
horse by the bridle,--he hastened down the stairs to meet him. A coach
was also in attendance, at a little distance.

Sir Rowland, who had continued absorbed in thought, with his eyes fixed
upon the sloop, as she made her way slowly down the river, disembarked
more leisurely.

"At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched
the strand.

"Not so, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan; "you are my prisoner."

"How!" ejaculated Trenchard, starting back and drawing his sword.

"You are arrested for high treason," rejoined Wild, presenting a pistol
at his head, while he drew forth a parchment,--"here is my warrant."

"Traitor!" cried Sir Rowland--"damned--double-dyed traitor!"

"Away with him," vociferated Jonathan to his myrmidons, who, having
surrounded Trenchard, hurried him off to the coach before he could utter
another word,--"first to Mr. Walpole, and then to Newgate. And now,
Quilt," he continued, addressing the janizary, who approached him with
the horse, "fly to St. Giles's round-house, and if, through the agency
of that treacherous scoundrel, Terry O'Flaherty, whom I've put in my
Black List, old Wood should have found his way there, and have been
detained by Sharpies as I directed, you may release him. I don't care
how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son. When I've escorted
you proud fool to his new quarters, I'll proceed to the Mint and look
after Jack Sheppard."

With this, he mounted his steed and rode off.

CHAPTER XVIII.

How Jack Sheppard broke out of the Cage at Willesden.

The heart-piercing scream uttered by Mrs. Sheppard after the commission
of the robbery in Willesden church was productive of unfortunate
consequences to her son. Luckily, she was bereft of consciousness, and
was thus spared the additional misery of witnessing what afterwards
befell him. Startled by the cry, as may be supposed, the attention of
the whole congregation was drawn towards the quarter whence it
proceeded. Amongst others, a person near the door, roused by the shriek,
observed a man make his exit with the utmost precipitation. A boy
attempted to follow; but as the suspicions of the lookers-on were roused
by the previous circumstances, the younger fugitive was seized and
detained. Meanwhile, Mr. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in
the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above
described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his
pocket-book,--about the security of which, as it contained several
letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite
plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,--and finding it gone, he felt
certain he had been robbed. Turning quickly round, in the hope of
discovering the thief, he was no less surprised than distressed--for in
spite of his faults, the woollen-draper was a good-natured fellow--to
perceive Jack Sheppard in custody. The truth at once flashed across his
mind. This, then, was the cause of the widow's wild inexplicable
look,--of her sudden shriek! Explaining his suspicious in a whisper to
Jack's captor, who proved to be a church-warden and a constable, by name
John Dump,--Mr. Kneebone begged him to take the prisoner into the
churchyard. Dump instantly complied, and as soon as Jack was removed
from the sacred edifice, his person was searched from head to foot--but
without success. Jack submitted to this scrutiny with a very bad grace,
and vehemently protested his innocence. In vain did the woollen-draper
offer to set him free if he would restore the stolen article, or give up
his associate, to whom it was supposed he might have handed it. He
answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of
the matter--had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up. Nor
did he content himself with declaring his guiltlessness of the crime
imputed to him, but began in his turn to menace his captor and accuser,
loading the latter with the bitterest upbraidings. By this time, the
churchyard was crowded with spectators, some of whom dispersed in
different directions in quest of the other robber. But all that could be
ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time
before in the direction of London. Of this man Kneebone resolved to go
in pursuit; and leaving Jack in charge of the constable, he proceeded to
the small inn,--which bore then, as it bears now, the name of the Six
Bells,--where, summoning the hostler, his steed was instantly brought
him, and, springing on its back, he rode away at full speed.

Meanwhile, after a consultation between Mr. Dump and the village
authorities, it was agreed to lock up the prisoner in the cage. As he
was conveyed thither, an incident occurred that produced a considerable
impression on the feelings of the youthful offender. Just as they
reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard--where the tall elms cast a
pleasant shade over the rustic graves--a momentary stoppage took place.
At this gate two paths meet. Down that on the right the young culprit
was dragged--along that on the left a fainting woman was borne in the
arms of several females. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her
pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him.
He urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the
distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from
it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison.

The cage at Willesden was, and is--for it is still standing--a small
round building about eight feet high, with a pointed tiled roof, to
which a number of boards, inscribed with the names of the parish
officers, and charged with a multitude of admonitory notices to vagrants
and other disorderly persons, are attached. Over these boards the two
arms of a guide-post serve to direct the way-farer--on the right hand to
the neighbouring villages of Neasdon and Kingsbury, and on the left to
the Edgeware Road and the healthy heights of Hampstead. The cage has a
strong door, with an iron grating at the top, and further secured by a
stout bolt and padlock. It is picturesquely situated beneath a tree on
the high road, not far from the little hostel before mentioned, and at
no great distance from the church.

For some time after he was locked up in this prison Jack continued in a
very dejected state. Deserted by his older companion in iniquity, and
instigator to crime, he did not know what might become of him; nor, as
we have observed, was the sad spectacle he had just witnessed, without
effect. Though within the last two days he had committed several heinous
offences, and one of a darker dye than any with which the reader has
been made acquainted, his breast was not yet so callous as to be wholly
insensible to the stings of conscience. Wearied at length with thinking
on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw
himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured
to compose himself to slumber. When he awoke, it was late in the day;
but though he heard voices outside, and now and then caught a glimpse of
a face peeping at him through the iron grating over the door, no one
entered the prison, or held any communication with him. Feeling rather
exhausted, it occurred to him that possibly some provisions might have
been left by the constable; and, looking about, he perceived a pitcher
of water and a small brown loaf on the floor. He ate of the bread with
great appetite, and having drunk as much as he chose of the water,
poured the rest on the floor. His hunger satisfied, his spirits began to
revive, and with this change of mood all his natural audacity returned.
And here he was first visited by that genius which, in his subsequent
career, prompted him to so many bold and successful attempts. Glancing
around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an
escape from it. The door was too strong, and too well secured, to break
open,--the walls too thick: but the ceiling,--if he could reach
it--there, he doubted not, he could make an outlet. While he was
meditating flight in this way, and tossing about on the straw, he
chanced upon an old broken and rusty fork. Here was an instrument which
might be of the greatest service to him in accomplishing his design. He
put it carefully aside, resolved to defer the attempt till night. Time
wore on somewhat slowly with the prisoner, who had to control his
impatience in the best way he could; but as the shades of evening were
darkening, the door was unlocked, and Mr. Dump popped his head into the
cage. He brought another small loaf, and a can with which he replenished
the pitcher, recommending Jack to be careful, as he would get nothing
further till morning. To this Jack replied, that he should be perfectly
contented, provided he might have a small allowance of gin. The latter
request, though treated with supreme contempt by Mr. Dump, made an
impression on some one outside; for not long after the constable
departed, Jack heard a tap at the door, and getting up at the summons,
he perceived the tube of a pipe inserted between the bars. At once
divining the meaning of this ingenious device, he applied his mouth to
the tube, and sucked away, while the person outside poured spirit into
the bowl. Having drunk as much as he thought prudent, and thanked his
unknown friend for his attention, Jack again lay down on the straw, and
indulged himself with another nap, intending to get up as soon as it was
perfectly dark. The strong potation he had taken, combined with fatigue
and anxiety he had previously undergone, made him oversleep himself, and
when he awoke it was just beginning to grow light. Cursing himself for
his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in
earnest. Availing himself of certain inequalities in the door, he soon
managed to climb up to the roof; and securing his feet against a slight
projection in the wall, began to use the fork with great effect. Before
many minutes elapsed, he had picked a large hole in the plaster, which
showered down in a cloud of dust; and breaking off several laths, caught
hold of a beam, by which he held with one hand, until with the other he
succeeded, not without some difficulty, in forcing out one of the tiles.
The rest was easy. In a few minutes more he had made a breach in the
roof wide enough to allow him to pass through. Emerging from this
aperture, he was about to descend, when he was alarmed by hearing the
tramp of horses' feet swiftly approaching, and had only time to hide
himself behind one of the largest sign-boards before alluded to when two
horsemen rode up. Instead of passing on, as Jack expected, these persons
stopped opposite the cage, when one of them, as he judged from the
sound, for he did not dare to look out of his hiding place, dismounted.
A noise was next heard, as if some instrument were applied to the door
with the intent to force it open, and Jack's fears were at once
dispelled, At first, he had imagined they were officers of justice, come
to convey him to a stronger prison: but the voice of one of the parties,
which he recognised, convinced him they were his friends.

"Look quick, Blueskin, and be cursed to you!" was growled in the deep
tones of Jonathan Wild. "We shall have the whole village upon us while
you're striking the jigger. Use the gilt, man!"

"There's no need of picklock or crow-bar, here, Mr. Wild," cried Jack,
placing his hat on the right arm of the guide-post, and leaning over the
board, "I've done the trick myself."

"Why, what the devil's this?" vociferated Jonathan, looking up. "Have
you broken out of the cage, Jack?"

"Something like it," replied the lad carelessly.

"Bravo!" cried the thief-taker approvingly.

"Well, that beats all I ever heard of!" roared Blueskin.

"But are you really there?"

"No, I'm here," answered Jack, leaping down. "I tell you what, Mr.
Wild," he added, laughing, "it must be a stronger prison than Willesden
cage that can hold me."

"Ay, ay," observed Jonathan, "you'll give the keepers of his Majesty's
jails some trouble before you're many years older, I'll warrant you. But
get up behind, Blueskin. Some one may observe us."

"Come, jump up," cried Blueskin, mounting his steed, "and I'll soon wisk
you to town. Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you. I
thought Bess would have cried her pretty eyes out when she heard you was
nabbed. You need give yourself no more concern about Kneebone. Mr. Wild
has done his business."

"Ay--ay," laughed Jonathan. "The pocket-book you prigged contained the
letters I wanted. He's now in spring-ankle warehouse with Sir Rowland
Trenchard. So get up, and let's be off."

"Before I leave this place, I must see my mother."

"Nonsense," returned Jonathan gruffly. "Would you expose yourself to
fresh risk? If it hadn't been for her you wouldn't have been placed in
your late jeopardy."

"I don't care for that," replied Jack. "See her I _will_. Leave me
behind: I'm not afraid. I'll be at the Cross Shovels in the course of
the day."

"Nay, if you're bent upon this folly," observed Wild, who appeared to
have his own reasons for humouring the lad, "I shan't hinder you.
Blueskin will take care of the horses, and I'll go with you."

So saying, he dismounted; and flinging his bridle to his companion, and
ordering him to ride off to a little distance, he followed Jack, who had
quitted the main road, and struck into a narrow path opposite the cage.
This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most
beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile.

"There's the house," said Jack, pointing to a pretty cottage, the small
wooden porch of which was covered with roses and creepers, with a little
trim garden in front of it. "I'll be back in a minute."

"Don't hurry yourself," said Jonathan, "I'll wait for you here."

CHAPTER XIX.

Good and Evil.

As Jack opened the gate, and crossed the little garden, which exhibited
in every part the neatness and attention of its owner, he almost
trembled at the idea of further disturbing her peace of mind. Pausing
with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the
village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees.
The rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking
to happiness. From this peaceful scene Jack's eye fell upon Jonathan,
who, seated upon the stile, under the shade of an elder tree, was
evidently watching him. A sarcastic smile seemed to play upon the
chief-taker's lips; and abashed at his own irresolution, the lad went
on.

After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the
latch, and to his surprise found it open. He stepped in with a heavy
foreboding of calamity. A cat came and rubbed herself against him as he
entered the house, and seemed by her mewing to ask him for food. That
was the only sound he heard.

Jack was almost afraid of speaking; but at length he summoned courage to
call out "Mother!"

"Who's there?" asked a faint voice from the bed.

"Your son," answered the boy.

"Jack," exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain.
"Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?"

"You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. "I'm come to say good bye to
you, and to assure you of my safety before I leave this place."

"Where are you going?" asked his mother.

"I hardly know," returned Jack; "but it's not safe for me to remain much
longer here."

"True," replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of
the day before crowded, "I know it isn't. I won't keep you long. But
tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were
placed--come and sit by me--here--upon the bed--give me your hand--and
tell me all about it."

Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her.

"Jack," said Mrs. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with
fever, "I have been ill--dreadfully ill--I believe delirious--I thought
I should have died last night--I won't tell you what agony you have
caused me--I won't reproach you. Only promise me to amend--to quit your
vile companions--and I will forgive you--will bless you. Oh! my dear,
dear son, be warned in time. You are in the hands of a wicked, a
terrible man, who will not stop till he has completed your destruction.
Listen to your mother's prayers, and do not let her die broken-hearted."

"It is too late," returned Jack, sullenly; "I can't be honest if I
would."

"Oh! do not say so," replied his wretched parent. "It is never too late.
I know you are in Jonathan Wild's power, for I saw him near you in the
church; and if ever the enemy of mankind was permitted to take human
form, I beheld him then. Beware of him, my son! Beware of him! You know
not what villany he is capable of. Be honest, and you will be happy. You
are yet a child; and though you have strayed from the right path, a
stronger hand than your own has led you thence. Return, I implore of
you, to your master,--to Mr. Wood. Acknowledge your faults. He is all
kindness, and will overlook them for your poor father's sake--for mine.
Return to him, I say--"

"I can't," replied Jack, doggedly.

"Can't!" repeated his mother. "Why not?"

"_I'll_ tell you," cried a deep voice from the back of the bed. And
immediately afterwards the curtain was drawn aside, and disclosed the
Satanic countenance of Jonathan Wild, who had crept into the house
unperceived, "I'll tell you, why he can't go back to his master," cried
the thief-taker, with a malignant grin. "He has robbed him."

"Robbed him!" screamed the widow. "Jack!"

Her son averted his gaze.

"Ay, robbed him," reiterated Jonathan. "The night before last, Mr.
Wood's house was broken into and plundered. Your son was seen by the
carpenter's wife in company with the robbers. Here," he added, throwing
a handbill on the bed, "are the particulars of the burglary, with the
reward for Jack's apprehension."

"Ah!" ejaculated the widow, hiding her face.

"Come," said Wild, turning authoritatively to Jack,--"you have
overstayed your time."

"Do not go with him, Jack!" shrieked his mother. "Do not--do not!"

"He _must!_" thundered Jonathan, "or he goes to jail."

"If you must go to prison, I will go with you," cried Mrs. Sheppard:
"but avoid that man as you would a serpent."

"Come along," thundered Jonathan.

"Hear me, Jack!" shrieked his mother. "You know not what you do. The
wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you. As I hope for mercy, I
speak the truth!--let him deny it if he can."

"Pshaw!" said Wild. "I could hang him now if I liked. But he may remain
with you if he pleases: _I_ sha'n't hinder him."

"You hear, my son," said the widow eagerly. "Choose between good and
evil;--between him and me. And mind, your life,--more than your
life--hangs upon your choice."

"It does so," said Wild. "Choose, Jack."

The lad made no answer, but left the room.

"He is gone!" cried Mrs. Sheppard despairingly.

"For ever!" said the thief-taker, preparing to follow.

"Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic
eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you
execute your terrible threat?"

"NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly.

END OF THE SECOND EPOCH.

EPOCH THE THIRD.

1724

THE PRISON-BREAKER.

CHAPTER I.

The Return.

Nearly nine years after the events last recorded, and about the middle
of May, 1724, a young man of remarkably prepossessing appearance took
his way, one afternoon, along Wych Street; and, from the curiosity with
which he regarded the houses on the left of the road, seemed to be in
search of some particular habitation. The age of this individual could
not be more than twenty-one; his figure was tall, robust, and gracefully
proportioned; and his clear gray eye and open countenance bespoke a
frank, generous, and resolute nature. His features were regular, and
finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,--a little shaded,
however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy
contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of
substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed
his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as
luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the
Second's days--a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in
our own days. He wore a French military undress of the period, with high
jack-boots, and a laced hat; and, though his attire indicated no
particular rank, he had completely the air of a person of distinction.
Such was the effect produced upon the passengers by his good looks and
manly deportment, that few--especially of the gentler and more
susceptible sex--failed to turn round and bestow a second glance upon
the handsome stranger. Unconscious of the interest he excited, and
entirely occupied by his own thoughts--which, if his bosom could have
been examined, would have been found composed of mingled hopes and
fears--the young man walked on till he came to an old house, with great
projecting bay windows on the first floor, and situated as nearly as
possible at the back of St. Clement's church. Here he halted; and,
looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying
a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not
the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE,
WOOLLEN-DRAPER.

Tears started to the young man's eyes on beholding the change, and it
was with difficulty he could command himself sufficiently to make the
inquiries he desired to do respecting the former owner of the house. As
he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom
he at once recognised as the present proprietor. Mr. Kneebone was
attired in the extremity of the mode. A full-curled wig descended
half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was
twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath,
and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and
bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. A stiff,
formally-cut coat of cinnamon-coloured cloth, with rows of plate
buttons, each of the size of a crown piece, on the sleeves, pockets, and
skirts, reached the middle of his legs; and his costume was completed by
the silver-hilted sword at his side, and the laced hat under his left
arm.

Bowing to the stranger, the woollen-draper very politely requested to
know his business.

"I'm almost afraid to state it," faltered the other; "but, may I ask
whether Mr. Wood, the carpenter, who formerly resided here, is still
living?"

"If you feel any anxiety on his account, Sir, I'm happy to be able to
relieve it," answered Kneebone, readily. "My good friend, Owen
Wood,--Heaven preserve him!--_is_ still living. And, for a man who'll
never see sixty again, he's in excellent preservation, I assure you."

"You delight me with the intelligence," said the stranger, entirely
recovering his cheerfulness of look.

"I began to fear, from his having quitted the old place, that some
misfortune must have befallen him."

"Quite the contrary," rejoined the woollen-draper, laughing
good-humouredly. "Everything has prospered with him in an extraordinary
manner. His business has thriven; legacies have unexpectedly dropped
into his lap; and, to crown all, he has made a large fortune by a lucky
speculation in South-Sea stock,--made it, too, where so many others have
lost fortunes, your humble servant amongst the number--ha! ha! In a
word, Sir, Mr. Wood is now in very affluent circumstances. He stuck to
the shop as long as it was necessary, and longer, in my opinion. When he
left these premises, three years ago, I took them from him; or
rather--to deal frankly with you,--he placed me in them rent-free, for,
I'm not ashamed to confess it, I've had losses, and heavy ones; and, if
it hadn't been for him, I don't know where I should have been. Mr. Wood,
Sir," he added, with much emotion, "is one of the best of men, and would
be the happiest, were it not that--" and he hesitated.

"Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly.

"His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily.

"I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile. "But,
it strikes me, I've heard that Mrs. Wood was once a favourite of yours."

"So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous
pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied
about his gallantry,--"so she was. But those days are over--quite over.
Since her husband has laid me under such a weight of obligation, I
couldn't, in honour, continue--hem!" and he took another explanatory
pinch. "Added to which, she is neither so young as she was, nor, is her
temper by any means improved--hem!"

"Say no more on the subject, Sir," observed the stranger, gravely; "but
let us turn to a more agreeable one--her daughter."

"That is a far more agreeable one, I must confess," returned Kneebone,
with a self-sufficient smirk.

The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his
impertinence.

"Is she married?" he asked, after a brief pause.

"Married!--no--no," replied the woollen-draper. "Winifred Wood will
never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. When a mere child
she fixed her affections upon a youth named Thames Darrell, whom her
father brought up, and who perished, it is supposed, about nine years
ago; and she has determined to remain faithful to his memory."

"You astonish me," said the stranger, in a voice full of emotion.

"Why it _is_ astonishing, certainly," remarked Kneebone, "to find any
woman constant--especially to a girlish attachment; but such is the
case. She has had offers innumerable; for where wealth and beauty are
combined, as in her instance, suitors are seldom wanting. But she was
not to be tempted."

"She is a matchless creature!" exclaimed the young man.

"So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by
that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion.

"I have one inquiry more to make of you, Sir," said the stranger, as
soon as he had conquered his displeasure, "and I will then trouble you
no further. You spoke just now of a youth whom Mr. Wood brought up. As
far as I recollect, there were two. What has become of the other?"

"Why, surely you don't mean Jack Sheppard?" cried the woollen-draper in
surprise.

"That was the lad's name," returned the stranger.

"I guessed from your dress and manner, Sir, that you must have been long
absent from your own country," said Kneebone; "and now I'm convinced of
it, or you wouldn't have asked that question. Jack Sheppard is the talk
and terror of the whole town. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for
him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all. He's the most
daring and expert housebreaker that ever used a crow-bar. He laughs at
locks and bolts; and the more carefully you guard your premises from
him, the more likely are you to insure an attack. His exploits and
escapes are in every body's mouth. He has been lodged in every
round-house in the metropolis, and has broken out of them all, and
boasts that no prison can hold him. We shall see. His skill has not been
tried. At present, he is under the protection of Jonathan Wild."

"Does that villain still maintain his power?" asked the stranger
sternly.

"He does," replied Kneebone, "and, what is more surprising, it seems to
increase. Jonathan completely baffles and derides the ends of justice.
It is useless to contend with him, even with right on your side. Some
years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to
league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got
clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my
shoulders. I charged the thief-taker, as was the fact, with having
robbed me, by means of the lad Sheppard, whom he instigated to deed, of
the very pocket-book he produced in evidence against me; but it was of
no avail--I couldn't obtain a hearing. Mr. Wood fared still worse.
Bribed by a certain Sir Rowland Trenchard, Jonathan kidnapped the
carpenter's adopted son, Thames Darrell, and placed him in the hands of
a Dutch Skipper, with orders to throw him overboard when he got out to
sea; and though this was proved as clear as day, the rascal managed
matters so adroitly, and gave such a different complexion to the whole
affair, that he came off with flying colours. One reason, perhaps, of
his success in this case might be, that having arrested his associate in
the dark transaction, Sir Rowland Trenchard, on a charge of high
treason, he was favoured by Walpole, who found his account in retaining
such an agent. Be this as it may, Jonathan remained the victor; and
shortly afterwards,--at the price of a third of his estate, it was
whispered,--he procured Trenchard's liberation from confinement."

At the mention of the latter occurrence, a dark cloud gathered upon the
stranger's brow.

"Do you know anything further of Sir Rowland?" he asked.

"Nothing more than this," answered Kneebone,--"that after the failure of
his projects, and the downfall of his party, he retired to his seat,
Ashton Hall, near Manchester, and has remained there ever since,
entirely secluded from the world."

The stranger was for a moment lost in reflection.

"And now, Sir," he said, preparing to take his departure, "will you add
to the obligation already conferred by informing me where I can meet
with Mr. Wood?"

"With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. "He lives at Dollis Hill, a
beautiful spot near Willesden, about four or five miles from town, where
he has taken a farm. If you ride out there, and the place is well worth
a visit, for the magnificent view it commands of some of the finest
country in the neighbourhood of London,--you are certain to meet with
him. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for
a week to come. He called here on his way back, after he had been to
Bedlam to visit poor Mrs. Sheppard."

"Jack's mother?" exclaimed the young man. "Gracious Heaven!--is she the
inmate of a mad-house?"

"She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her
son's misconduct. Alas! that the punishment of his offences should fall
on her head. Poor soul! she nearly died when she heard he had robbed his
master; and it might have been well if she had done so, for she never
afterwards recovered her reason. She rambles continually about Jack, and
her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be
gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. I pity
her from the bottom of my heart. But, in the midst of all her
affliction, she has found a steady friend in Mr. Wood, who looks after
her comforts, and visits her constantly. Indeed, I've heard him say
that, but for his wife, he would shelter her under his own roof. That,
Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan."

The stranger said nothing, but hastily brushed away a tear. Perceiving
he was about to take leave, Kneebone ventured to ask whom he had had
the honour of addressing.

Before the question could be answered, a side-door was opened, and a
very handsome woman of Amazonian proportions presented herself, and
marched familiarly up to Mr. Kneebone. She was extremely showily
dressed, and her large hooped petticoat gave additional effect to her
lofty stature. As soon as she noticed the stranger, she honoured him
with an extremely impudent stare, and scarcely endeavoured to disguise
the admiration with which his good looks impressed her.

"Don't you perceive, my dear Mrs. Maggot, that I'm engaged," said
Kneebone, a little disconcerted.

"Who've you got with you?" demanded the Amazon, boldly.

"The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper,
with increased embarrassment. "I don't know his name." And he looked at
the moment as if he had lost all desire to know it.

"Well, he's a pretty fellow at all events," observed Mrs. Maggot, eyeing
him from head to heel with evident satisfaction;--"a devilish pretty
fellow!"

"Upon my word, Poll," said Kneebone, becoming very red, "you might have
a little more delicacy than to tell him so before my face."

"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Maggot, drawing up her fine figure to its full
height; "because I condescend to live with you, am I never to look at
another man,--especially at one so much to my taste as this? Don't think
it!"

"You had better retire, Madam," said the woollen-draper, sharply, "if
you can't conduct yourself with more propriety."

"Order those who choose to obey you," rejoined the lady scornfully.
"Though you lorded it over that fond fool, Mrs. Wood, you shan't lord it
over me, I can promise you. That for you!" And she snapped her fingers
in his face.

"Zounds!" cried Kneebone, furiously. "Go to your own room, woman,
directly, or I'll make you!"

"Make me!" echoed Mrs. Maggot, bursting into a loud contemptuous laugh.
"Try!"

Enraged at the assurance of his mistress, the woollen-draper
endeavoured to carry his threat into execution, but all his efforts to
remove her were unavailing. At length, after he had given up the point
from sheer exhaustion, the Amazon seized him by the throat, and pushed
him backwards with such force that he rolled over the counter.

"There!" she cried, laughing, "that'll teach you to lay hands upon me
again. You should remember, before you try your strength against mine,
that when I rescued you from the watch, and you induced me to come and
live with you, I beat off four men, any of whom was a match for you--ha!
ha!"

"My dear Poll!" said Kneebone, picking himself up, "I entreat you to
moderate yourself."

"Entreat a fiddlestick!" retorted Mrs. Maggot: "I'm tired of you, and
will go back to my old lover, Jack Sheppard. He's worth a dozen of you.
Or, if this good-looking young fellow will only say the word, I'll go
with him."

"You may go, and welcome, Madam!" rejoined Kneebone, spitefully. "But, I
should think, after the specimen you've just given of your amiable
disposition, no person would be likely to saddle himself with such an
incumbrance."

"What say you, Sir?" said the Amazon, with an engaging leer at the
stranger. "_You_ will find me tractable enough; and, with _me_ by, your
side you need fear neither constable nor watchman. I've delivered Jack
Sheppard from many an assault. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a
prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. Will you
take me?"

However tempting Mrs. Maggot's offer may appear, the young man thought
fit to decline it, and, after a few words of well-merited compliment on
her extraordinary prowess, and renewed thanks to Mr. Kneebone, he took
his departure.

"Good bye!" cried Mrs. Maggot, kissing her hand to him. "I'll find you
out. And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the
woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard."

"You shall first go to Bridewell, you jade!" rejoined Kneebone. "Here,
Tom," he added, calling to a shop-boy, "run and fetch a constable."

"He had better bring half-a-dozen," said the Amazon, taking up a
cloth-yard wand, and quietly seating herself; "one won't do."

On leaving Mr. Kneebone's house, the young man hastened to a hotel in
the neighbourhood of Covent Garden, where, having procured a horse, he
shaped his course towards the west end of the town. Urging his steed
along Oxford Road,--as that great approach to the metropolis was then
termed,--he soon passed Marylebone Lane, beyond which, with the
exception of a few scattered houses, the country was completely open on
the right, and laid out in pleasant fields and gardens; nor did he draw
in the rein until he arrived at Tyburn-gate, where, before he turned off
upon the Edgeware Road, he halted for a moment, to glance at the place
of execution. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked
by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree. Opposite
the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a
racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators.
Without the inclosure were reared several lofty gibbets, with their
ghastly burthens. Altogether, it was a hideous and revolting sight.
Influenced, probably, by what he had heard from Mr. Kneebone, respecting
the lawless career of Jack Sheppard, and struck with the probable fate
that awaited him, the young man, as he contemplated this scene, fell
into a gloomy reverie. While he was thus musing, two horsemen rode past
him; and, proceeding to a little distance, stopped likewise. One of them
was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and
harsh forbidding features. He was well mounted, as was his companion;
and had pistols in his holsters, and a hanger at his girdle. The other
individual, who was a little in advance, was concealed from the
stranger's view. Presently, however, a sudden movement occurred, and
disclosed his features, which were those of a young man of nearly his
own age. The dress of this person was excessively showy, and consisted
of a scarlet riding-habit, lined and faced with blue, and bedizened with
broad gold lace, a green silk-knit waistcoat, embroidered with silver,
and decorated with a deep fringe, together with a hat tricked out in the
same gaudy style. His figure was slight, but well-built; and, in stature
he did not exceed five feet four. His complexion was pale; and there was
something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes. His head
was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his
sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. A mutual recognition
took place at the same instant between the stranger and this individual.
Both started. The latter seemed inclined to advance and address the
former; but suddenly changing his mind, he shouted to his companion in
tones familiar to the stranger's ear; and, striking spurs into his
steed, dashed off at full speed along the Edgeware Road. Impelled by a
feeling, into which we shall not pause to inquire, the stranger started
after them; but they were better mounted, and soon distanced him.
Remarking that they struck off at a turning on the left, he took the
same road, and soon found himself on Paddington-Green. A row of
magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over
this pleasant spot. From a man, who was standing beneath the shade of
one these noble trees, information was obtained that the horsemen had
ridden along the Harrow Road. With a faint view of overtaking them
the pursuer urged his steed to a quicker pace. Arrived at
Westbourne-Green--then nothing more than a common covered with gorse and
furzebushes, and boasting only a couple of cottages and an alehouse--he
perceived through the hedges the objects of his search slowly ascending
the gentle hill that rises from Kensall-Green.

By the time he had reached the summit of this hill, he had lost all
trace of them; and the ardour of the chase having in some measure
subsided, he began to reproach himself for his folly, in having
wandered--as he conceived--so far out of his course. Before retracing
his steps, however, he allowed his gaze to range over the vast and
beautiful prospect spread out beneath him, which is now hidden, from the
traveller's view by the high walls of the General Cemetery, and can,
consequently, only be commanded from the interior of that attractive
place of burial,--and which, before it was intersected by canals and
railroads, and portioned out into hippodromes, was exquisite indeed.
After feasting his eye upon this superb panorama, he was about to
return, when he ascertained from a farmer that his nearest road to
Willesden would be down a lane a little further on, to the right.
Following this direction, he opened a gate, and struck into one of the
most beautiful green lanes imaginable; which, after various windings,
conducted him into a more frequented road, and eventually brought him to
the place he sought. Glancing at the finger-post over the cage, which
has been described as situated at the outskirts of the village, and
seeing no directions to Dollis Hill, he made fresh inquiries as to where
it lay, from an elderly man, who was standing with another countryman
near the little prison.

"Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat.

"Mr. Wood's," was the reply.

"There is Dollis Hill," said the man, pointing to a well-wooded eminence
about a mile distant, "and there," he added, indicating the roof of a
house just visible above a grove of trees "is Mr. Wood's. If you ride
past the church, and mount the hill, you'll come to Neasdon and then
you'll not have above half a mile to go."

The young man thanked his informant, and was about to follow his
instructions, when the other called after him----

"I say, master, did you ever hear tell of Mr. Wood's famous 'prentice?"

"What apprentice?" asked the stranger, in surprise.

"Why, Jack Sheppard, the notorious house-breaker,--him as has robbed
half Lunnun, to be sure. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day
after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a
gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,--that he did, the
heathen. The gentleman catched him i' th' fact, and we shut him up for
safety i' that pris'n. But," said the fellow, with a laugh, "he soon
contrived to make his way out on it, though. Ever since he's become so
famous, the folks about here ha' christened it Jack Sheppard's cage. His
mother used to live i' this village, just down yonder; but when her son
took to bad ways, she went distracted,--and now she's i' Bedlam, I've
heerd."

"I tell e'e what, John Dump," said the other fellow, who had hitherto
preserved silence, "I don't know whether you talkin' o' Jack Sheppard
has put him into my head or not; but I once had him pointed out to me,
and if that _were_ him as I seed then, he's just now ridden past us, and
put up at the Six Bells."

"The deuce he has!" cried Dump. "If you were sure o' that we might seize
him, and get the reward for his apprehension."

"That 'ud be no such easy matter," replied the countryman. "Jack's a
desperate fellow, and is always well armed; besides, he has a comrade
with him. But I'll tell e'e what we _might_ do----"

The young man heard no more. Taking the direction pointed out, he rode
off. As he passed the Six Bells, he noticed the steeds of the two
horsemen at the door; and glancing into the house, perceived the younger
of the two in the passage. The latter no sooner beheld him than he
dashed hastily into an adjoining room. After debating with himself
whether he should further seek an interview, which, though, now in his
power, was so sedulously shunned by the other party, he decided in the
negative; and contenting himself with writing upon a slip of paper the
hasty words,--"You are known by the villagers,--be upon your guard,"--he
gave it to the ostler, with instructions to deliver it instantly to the
owner of the horse he pointed out, and pursued his course.

Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend
screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he
obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached
the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of
Neasdon. From this spot a road, more resembling the drive through a park
than a public thoroughfare, led him gradually to the brow of Dollis
Hill. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently
stealing over the face of the country. Bordered by fine timber, the road
occasionally offered glimpses of a lovely valley, until a wider opening
gave a full view of a delightful and varied prospect. On the left lay
the heights of Hampstead, studded with villas, while farther off a hazy
cloud marked the position of the metropolis. The stranger concluded he
could not be far from his destination, and a turn in the road showed him
the house.

Beneath two tall elms, whose boughs completely overshadowed the roof,
stood Mr. Wood's dwelling,--a plain, substantial, commodious farm-house.
On a bench at the foot of the trees, with a pipe in his mouth, and a
tankard by his side, sat the worthy carpenter, looking the picture of
good-heartedness and benevolence. The progress of time was marked in Mr.
Wood by increased corpulence and decreased powers of vision,--by deeper
wrinkles and higher shoulders, by scantier breath and a fuller habit.
Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had
imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. Around him were all the evidences
of plenty. A world of haystacks, bean-stacks, and straw-ricks flanked
the granges adjoining his habitation; the yard was crowded with poultry,
pigeons were feeding at his feet, cattle were being driven towards the
stall, horses led to the stable, a large mastiff was rattling his chain,
and stalking majestically in front of his kennel, while a number of
farming-men were passing and repassing about their various occupations.
At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned
terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruit-trees in blossom,
and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring.

Hearing the approach of the rider, Mr. Wood turned to look at him. It
was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the
features and figure of the stranger.

"I need not ask whether this is Mr. Wood's," said the latter, "since I
find him at his own gate."

"You are right, Sir," said the worthy carpenter, rising. "I am Owen
Wood, at your service."

"You do not remember me, I dare say," observed the stranger.

"I can't say I do," replied Wood. "Your voice seems familiar to
me--and--but I'm getting a little deaf--and my eyes don't serve me quite
so well as they used to do, especially by this light."

"Never mind," returned the stranger, dismounting; "you'll recollect me
by and by, I've no doubt. I bring you tidings of an old friend."

"Then you're heartily welcome, Sir, whoever you are. Pray, walk in.
Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable--see him dressed and
fed directly. Now, Sir, will you please to follow me?"

Mr. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern
notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a
neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and
creepers. There was no light in the room; but, notwithstanding this, the
young man did not fail to detect the buxom figure of Mrs. Wood, now more
buxom and more gorgeously arrayed than ever,--as well as a young and
beautiful female, in whom he was at no loss to recognise the carpenter's
daughter.

Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Her features were still
slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as
a child,--but that was the only drawback to her beauty. Their expression
was so amiable, that it would have redeemed a countenance a thousand
times plainer than hers. Her figure was perfect,--tall, graceful,
rounded,--and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the
stars in lustre. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the
window busily occupied with her needle.

"My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his
guest.

Mrs. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated,
glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a
very civil salutation. Winifred's reception was kind, but more distant,
and after the slight ceremonial she resumed her occupation.

"This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the
carpenter.

"Ay, indeed! And who may that be?" inquired his wife.

"One whom you may perhaps have forgotten," replied the stranger, "but
who can never forget the kindness he experienced at your hands, or at
those of your excellent husband."

At the sound of his voice every vestige of colour fled from Winifred's
cheeks, and the work upon which she was engaged fell from her hand.

"I have a token to deliver to you," continued the stranger, addressing
her.

"To me?" gasped Winifred.

"This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black
ribband from his breast, and giving it her,--"do you remember it?"

"I do--I do!" cried Winifred.

"What's all this?" exclaimed Wood in amazement.

"Do you not know me, father?" said the young man, advancing towards him,
and warmly grasping his hand. "Have nine years so changed me, that there
is no trace left of your adopted son?"

"God bless me!" ejaculated the carpenter, rubbing his eyes, "can--can it
be?"

"Surely," screamed Mrs. Wood, joining the group, "it isn't Thames
Darrell come to life again?"

"It is--it is!" cried Winifred, rushing towards him, and flinging her
arms round his neck,--"it is my dear--dear brother!"

"Well, this is what I never expected to see," said the carpenter,
wiping his eyes; "I hope I'm not dreaming! Thames, my dear boy, as soon
as Winny has done with you, let me embrace you."

"My turn comes before yours, Sir," interposed his better half. "Come to
my arms, Thames! Oh! dear! Oh! dear!"

To repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or
describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged
his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the
breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the
empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in
order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction--to describe the
scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued,
but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as
it must occur to every one's imagination. Supper was quickly served; the
oldest bottle of wine was brought from the cellar; the strongest barrel
of ale was tapped; but not one of the party could eat or drink--their
hearts were too full.

Thames sat with Winifred's hand clasped in his own, and commenced a
recital of his adventures, which may be briefly told. Carried out to sea
by Van Galgebrok, and thrown overboard, while struggling with the waves,
he had been picked up by a French fishing-boat, and carried to Ostend.
After encountering various hardships and privations for a long time,
during which he had no means of communicating with England, he, at
length, found his way to Paris, where he was taken notice of by Cardinal
Dubois, who employed him as one of his secretaries, and subsequently
advanced to the service of Philip of Orleans, from whom he received a
commission. On the death of his royal patron, he resolved to return to
his own country; and, after various delays, which had postponed it to
the present time, he had succeeded in accomplishing his object.

Winifred listened to his narration with the profoundest attention; and,
when it concluded, her tearful eye and throbbing bosom told how deeply
her feelings had been interested.

The discourse, then, turned to Darrell's old playmate, Jack Sheppard;
and Mr. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy
condition to which it had reduced his mother.

"For my part, it's only what I expected of him," observed Mrs. Wood,
"and I'm sorry and surprised he hasn't swung for his crimes before this.
The gallows has groaned for him for years. As to his mother, I've no
pity for her. She deserves what has befallen her."

"Dear mother, don't say so," returned Winifred. "One of the consequences
of criminal conduct, is the shame and disgrace which--worse than any
punishment the evil-doer can suffer--is brought by it upon the innocent
relatives; and, if Jack had considered this, perhaps he would not have
acted as he has done, and have entailed so much misery on his unhappy
parent."

"I always detested Mrs. Sheppard," cried the carpenter's wife bitterly;
"and, I repeat, Bedlam's too good for her."

"My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable--"

"Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry. Marry, come
up! I've been a great deal too charitable. Here's Winny always urging
you to go and visit Mrs. Sheppard in the asylum, and take her this, and
send her that;--and I've never prevented you, though such mistaken
liberality's enough to provoke a saint. And, then, forsooth, she must
needs prevent your hanging Jack Sheppard after the robbery in Wych
Street, when you might have done so. Perhaps you'll call that charity:
_I_ call it defeating the ends of justice. See what a horrible rascal
you've let loose upon the world!"

"I'm sure, mother," rejoined Winifred, "if any one was likely to feel
resentment, I was; for no one could be more frightened. But I was sorry
for poor Jack--as I am still, and hoped he would mend."

"Mend!" echoed Mrs. Wood, contemptuously, "he'll never mend till he
comes to Tyburn."

"At least, I will hope so," returned Winifred. "But, as I was saying, I
was most dreadfully frightened on the night of the robbery! Though so
young at the time, I remember every circumstance distinctly. I was
sitting up, lamenting your departure, dear Thames, when, hearing an odd
noise, I went to the landing, and, by the light of a dark lantern, saw
Jack Sheppard, stealing up stairs, followed by two men with crape on
their faces. I'm ashamed to say that I was too much terrified to scream
out--but ran and hid myself."

"Hold your tongue!" cried Mrs. Wood. "I declare you throw me into an
ague. Do you think _I_ forget it? Didn't they help themselves to all the
plate and the money--to several of my best dresses, and amongst others,
to my favourite kincob gown; and I've never been able to get another
like it! Marry, come up! I'd hang 'em all, if I could. Were such a thing
to happen again, I'd never let Mr. Wood rest till he brought the
villains to justice."

"I hope such a thing never _will_ happen again, my dear," observed Wood,
mildly, "but, when it does, it will be time to consider what course we
ought to pursue."

"Let them attempt it, if they dare!" cried Mrs. Wood, who had worked
herself into a passion; "and, I'll warrant 'em, the boldest robber among
'em shall repent it, if he comes across me."

"No doubt, my dear," acquiesced the carpenter, "no doubt."

Thames, who had been more than once on the point of mentioning his
accidental rencounter with Jack Sheppard, not being altogether without
apprehension, from the fact of his being in the neighbourhood,--now
judged it more prudent to say nothing on the subject, from a fear of
increasing Mrs. Wood's displeasure; and he was the more readily induced
to do this, as the conversation began to turn upon his own affairs. Mr.
Wood could give him no further information respecting Sir Rowland
Trenchard than what he had obtained from Kneebone; but begged him to
defer the further consideration of the line of conduct he meant to
pursue until the morrow, when he hoped to have a plan to lay before
him, of which he would approve.

The night was now advancing, and the party began to think of separating.
As Mrs. Wood, who had recovered her good humour, quitted the room she
bestowed a hearty embrace on Thames, and she told him laughingly, that
she would "defer all _she_ had to propose to him until to-morrow."

To-morrow! She never beheld it.

After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the
carpenter to his sleeping apartment--a comfortable cosy chamber; such a
one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its
dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white
furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness. Left to himself, he
took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the,
chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. It was a copy of the pencil sketch
taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender
recollections.

When about to retire to rest, the rencounter with Jack Sheppard again
recurred to him, and he half blamed himself for not acquainting Mr. Wood
with the circumstances, and putting him upon his guard against the
possibility of an attack. On weighing the matter over, he grew so uneasy
that he resolved to descend, and inform him of his misgivings. But, when
he got to the door with this intention, he became ashamed of his fears;
and feeling convinced that Jack--bad as he might be--was not capable of
such atrocious conduct as to plunder his benefactor twice, he contented
himself with looking to the priming of his pistols, and placing them
near him, to be ready in case of need, he threw himself on the bed and
speedily fell asleep.

CHAPTER II.

The Burglary at Dollis Hill.

Thames Darrell's fears were not, however, groundless. Danger, in the
form he apprehended, was lurking outside: nor was he destined to enjoy
long repose. On receiving the warning note from the ostler, Jack
Sheppard and his companion left Willesden, and taking--as a blind--the
direction of Harrow, returned at night-fall by a by-lane to Neasdon, and
put up at a little public-house called the Spotted Dog. Here they
remained till midnight when, calling for their reckoning and their
steeds, they left the house.

It was a night well-fitted to their enterprise, calm, still, and
profoundly dark. As they passed beneath the thick trees that shade the
road to Dollis Hill, the gloom was almost impenetrable. The robbers
proceeded singly, and kept on the grass skirting the road, so that no
noise was made by their horses' feet.

As they neared the house, Jack Sheppard, who led the way, halted and
addressed his companion in a low voice:--

"I don't half like this job, Blueskin," he said; "it always went against
the grain. But, since I've seen the friend and companion of my
childhood, Thames Darrell, I've no heart for it. Shall we turn back?"

"And disappoint Mr. Wild, Captain?" remonstrated the other, in a
deferential tone. "You know this is a pet project. It might be dangerous
to thwart him."

"Pish!" cried Jack: "I don't value his anger a straw. All our fraternity
are afraid of him; but _I_ laugh at his threats. He daren't quarrel with
me: and if he does, let him look to himself. I've my own reasons for
disliking this job."

"Well, you know I always act under your orders, Captain," returned
Blueskin; "and if you give the word to retreat, I shall obey, of course:
but I know what Edgeworth Bess will say when we go home empty-handed."

"Why what will she say?" inquired Sheppard.

"That we were afraid," replied the other; "but never mind her."

"Ay; but I do mind her," cried Jack upon whom his comrade's observation
had produced the desired effect. "We'll do it."

"That's right, Captain," rejoined Blueskin. "You pledged yourself to
Mr. Wild--"

"I did," interrupted Jack; "and I never yet broke an engagement. Though
a thief, Jack Sheppard is a man of his word."

"To be sure he is," acquiesced Blueskin. "I should like to meet the man
who would dare to gainsay it."

"One word before we begin, Blueskin," said Jack, authoritatively; "in
case the family should be alarmed--mind, no violence. There's one person
in the house whom I wouldn't frighten for the world."

"Wood's daughter, I suppose?" observed the other.

"You've hit it," answered Sheppard.

"What say you to carrying her off, Captain?" suggested Blueskin. "If
you've a fancy for the girl, we might do it."

"No--no," laughed Jack. "Bess wouldn't bear a rival. But if you wish to
do old Wood a friendly turn, you may bring his wife."

"I shouldn't mind ridding him of her," said Blueskin, gruffly; "and if
she comes in my way, may the devil seize me if I don't make short work
with her!"

"You forget," rejoined Jack, sternly, "I've just said I'll have no
violence--mind that."

With this, they dismounted; and fastening their horses to a tree,
proceeded towards the house. It was still so dark, that nothing could be
distinguished except the heavy masses of timber by which the premises
were surrounded; but as they advanced, lights were visible in some of
the windows. Presently they came to a wall, on the other side of which
the dog began to bark violently; but Blueskin tossed him a piece of
prepared meat, and uttering a low growl, he became silent. They then
clambered over a hedge, and scaling another wall, got into the garden at
the back of the house. Treading with noiseless step over the soft mould,
they soon reached the building. Arrived there, Jack felt about for a
particular window; and having discovered the object of his search, and
received the necessary implements from his companion, he instantly
commenced operations. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,--then
the window,--and they were in the room. Jack now carefully closed the
shutters, while Blueskin struck a light, with which he set fire to a
candle. The room they were in was a sort of closet, with the door locked
outside; but this was only a moment's obstacle to Jack, who with a
chisel forced back the bolt. The operation was effected with so much
rapidity and so little noise, that even if any one had been on the
alert, he could scarcely have detected it. They then took off their
boots, and crept stealthily up stairs, treading upon the point of their
toes so cautiously, that not a board creaked beneath their weight.
Pausing at each door on the landing, Jack placed his ear to the keyhole,
and listened intently. Having ascertained by the breathing which room
Thames occupied, he speedily contrived to fasten him in. He then tried
the door of Mr. Wood's bed-chamber--it was locked, with the key left in
it. This occasioned a little delay; but Jack, whose skill as a workman
in the particular line he had chosen was unequalled, and who laughed at
difficulties, speedily cut out a panel by means of a centre-bit and
knife, took the key from the other side, and unlocked the door. Covering
his face with a crape mask, and taking the candle from his associate,
Jack entered the room; and, pistol in hand, stepped up to the bed, and
approached the light to the eyes of the sleepers. The loud noise
proceeding from the couch proved that their slumbers were deep and real;
and unconscious of the danger in which she stood, Mrs. Wood turned over
to obtain a more comfortable position. During this movement, Jack
grasped the barrel of his pistol, held in his breath, and motioned to
Blueskin, who bared a long knife, to keep still. The momentary alarm
over, he threw a piece of-wash leather over a bureau, so as to deaden
the sound, and instantly broke it open with a small crow-bar. While he
was filling his pockets with golden coin from this store, Blueskin had
pulled the plate-chest from under the bed, and having forced it open,
began filling a canvass bag with its contents,--silver coffee-pots,
chocolate-dishes, waiters trays, tankards, goblets, and candlesticks.
It might be supposed that these articles, when thrust together into the
bag, would have jingled; but these skilful practitioners managed matters
so well that no noise was made. After rifling the room of everything
portable, including some of Mrs. Wood's ornaments and wearing apparel,
they prepared to depart. Jack then intimated his intention of visiting
Winifred's chamber, in which several articles of value were known to be
kept; but as, notwithstanding his reckless character, he still retained
a feeling of respect for the object of his boyish affections, he would
not suffer Blueskin to accompany him, so he commanded him to keep watch
over the sleepers--strictly enjoining him, however, to do them no
injury. Again having recourse to the centre-bit,--for Winifred's door
was locked,--Jack had nearly cut out a panel, when a sudden outcry was
raised in the carpenter's chamber. The next moment, a struggle was
heard, and Blueskin appeared at the door, followed by Mrs. Wood.

Jack instandly extinguished the light, and called to his comrade to come
after him.

But Blueskin found it impossible to make off,--at least with the
spoil,--Mrs. Wood having laid hold of the canvass-bag.

"Give back the things!" cried the, lady. "Help!--help, Mr. Wood!"

"Leave go!" thundered Blueskin--"leave go--you'd better!"--and he held
the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he
searched for his knife.

"No, I won't leave go!" screamed Mrs. Wood.
"Fire!--murder--thieves!--I've got one of 'em!"

"Come along," cried Jack.

"I can't," answered Blueskin. "This she-devil has got hold of the sack.
Leave go, I tell you!" and he forced open the knife with his teeth.

"Help!--murder!--thieves!" screamed Mrs. Wood;--"Owen--Owen!--Thames,
help!"

"Coming!" cried Mr. Wood, leaping from the bed. "Where are you?"

"Here," replied Mrs. Wood. "Help--I'll hold him!"

"Leave her," cried Jack, darting down stairs, amid a furious ringing of
bells,--"the house is alarmed,--follow me!"

"Curses light on you!" cried Blueskin, savagely; "since you won't be
advised, take your fate."

And seizing her by the hair, he pulled back her head, and drew the knife
with all his force across her throat. There was a dreadful stifled
groan, and she fell heavily upon the landing.

The screams of the unfortunate woman had aroused Thames from his
slumbers. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his
horror found it fastened. He heard the struggle on the landing, the fall
of the heavy body, the groan,--and excited almost to frenzy by his
fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door. By this time, several of
the terrified domestics appeared with lights. A terrible spectacle was
presented to the young man's gaze:--the floor deluged with blood--the
mangled and lifeless body of Mrs. Wood,--Winifred fainted in the arms of
a female attendant,--and Wood standing beside them almost in a state of
distraction. Thus, in a few minutes, had this happy family been plunged
into the depths of misery. At this juncture, a cry was raised by a
servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden.
Darting to a window looking in that direction, Thames threw it up, and
discharged both his pistols, but without effect. In another minute, the
tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had
effected their escape.

CHAPTER III.

Jack Sheppard's Quarrel with Jonathan Wild.

Scarcely an hour after the horrible occurrence just related, as Jonathan
Wild was seated in the audience-chamber of his residence at the Old
Bailey, occupied, like Peachum, (for whose portrait he sat,) with his
account-books and registers, he was interrupted by the sudden entrance
of Quilt Arnold, who announced Jack Sheppard and Blueskin.

"Ah!" cried Wild, laying down his pen and looking up with a smile of
satisfaction. "I was just thinking of you Jack. What news. Have you done
the trick at Dollis Hill?--brought off the swag--eh?"

"No," answered Jack, flinging himself sullenly into a chair, "I've not."

"Why how's this?" exclaimed Jonathan. "Jack Sheppard failed! I'd not
believe it, if any one but himself told me so."

"I'v not failed," returned Jack, angrily; "but we've done too much."

"I'm no reader of riddles," said Jonathan. "Speak plainly."

"Let this speak for me," said Sheppard, tossing a heavy bag of money
towards him. "You can generally understand that language. There's more
than I undertook to bring. It has been purchased by blood!"

"What! have you cut old Wood's throat?" asked Wild, with great
unconcern, as he took up the bag.

"If I _had_, you'd not have seen me here," replied Jack, sullenly. "The
blood that has been spilt is that of his wife."

"It was her own fault," observed Blueskin, moodily. "She wouldn't let me
go. I did it in self-defence."

"I care not why you did it," said Jack, sternly. "We work together no
more."

"Come, come, Captain," remonstrated Blueskin. "I thought you'd have got
rid of your ill-humour by this time. You know as well as I do that it
was accident."

"Accident or not," rejoined Sheppard; "you're no longer pall of mine."

"And so this is my reward for having made you the tip-top cracksman you
are," muttered Blueskin;--"to be turned off at a moment's notice,
because I silenced a noisy woman. It's too hard. Think better of it."

"My mind's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly,--"we part to-night."

"I'll not go," answered the other. "I love you like a son, and will
follow you like a dog. You'd not know what to do without me, and shan't
drive me off."

"Well!" remarked Jonathan, who had paid little attention to the latter
part of the conversation: "this is an awkward business certainly: but we
must do the best we can in it. You must keep out of the way till it's
blown over. I can accommodate you below."

"I don't require it," returned Sheppard. "I'm tired of the life I'm
leading. I shall quit it and go abroad."

"I'll go with you," said Blueskin.

"Before either of you go, you will ask my permission," said Jonathan,
coolly.

"How!" exclaimed Sheppard. "Do you mean to say you will interfere--"

"I mean to say this," interrupted Wild, with contemptuous calmness,
"that I'll neither allow you to leave England nor the profession you've
engaged in. I wouldn't allow you to be honest even if you could be
so,--which I doubt. You are my slave--and such you shall continue.'"

"Slave?" echoed Jack.

"Dare to disobey," continued Jonathan: "neglect my orders, and I will
hang you."

Sheppard started to his feet.

"Hear me," he cried, restraining himself with difficulty. "It is time
you should know whom you have to deal with. Henceforth, I utterly throw
off the yoke you have laid upon me. I will neither stir hand nor foot
for you more. Attempt to molest me, and I split. You are more in my
power than I am in yours. Jack Sheppard is a match for Jonathan Wild,
any day."

"That he is," added Blueskin, approvingly.

Jonathan smiled contemptuously.

"One motive alone shall induce me to go on with you," said Jack.

"What's that?" asked Wild.

"The youth whom you delivered to Van Galgebrok,--Thames Darrell, is
returned."

"Impossible!" cried Jonathan. "He was thrown overboard, and perished at
sea."

"He is alive," replied Jack, "I have seen him, and might have conversed
with him if I had chosen. Now, I know you can restore him to his rights,
if you choose. Do so; and I am yours as heretofore."

"Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan.

"Your answer!" cried Sheppard. "Yes, or no?"

"I will make no terms with you," rejoined Wild, sternly. "You have
defied me, and shall feel my power. You have been useful to me, or I
would not have spared you thus long. I swore to hang you two years ago,
but I deferred my purpose."

"Deferred!" echoed Sheppard.

"Hear me out," said Jonathan. "You came hither under my protection, and
you shall depart freely,--nay, more, you shall have an hour's grace.
After that time, I shall place my setters on your heels."

"You cannot prevent my departure," replied Jack, dauntlessly, "and
therefore your offer is no favour. But I tell you in return, I shall
take no pains to hide myself. If you want me, you know where to find
me."

"An hour," said Jonathan, looking at his watch,--"remember!"

"If you send for me to the Cross Shovels in the Mint, where I'm going
with Blueskin, I will surrender myself without resistance," returned
Jack.

"You will spare the officers a labour then," rejoined Jonathan.

"Can't I settle this business, Captain," muttered Blueskin, drawing a
pistol.

"Don't harm him," said Jack, carelessly: "he dares not do it."

So saying, he left the room.

"Blueskin," said Jonathan, as that worthy was about to follow, "I advise
you to remain with me."

"No," answered the ruffian, moodily. "If you arrest him, you must arrest
me also."

"As you will," said Jonathan, seating himself.

Jack and his comrade went to the Mint, where he was joined by Edgeworth
Bess, with whom he sat down most unconcernedly to supper. His revelry,
however, was put an end at the expiration of the time mentioned by
Jonathan, by the entrance of a posse of constables with Quilt Arnold and
Abraham Mendez at their head. Jack, to the surprise of all his
companions, at once surrendered himself: but Blueskin would have made a
fierce resistance, and attempted a rescue if he had not been ordered by
his leader to desist. He then made off. Edgeworth Bess, who passed for
Sheppard's wife, was secured. They were hurried before a magistrate, and
charged by Jonathan Wild with various robberies; but, as Jack Sheppard
stated that he had most important disclosures to make, as well as
charges to bring forward against his accuser, he was committed with his
female companion to the New Prison in Clerkenwell for further
examination.

CHAPTER IV.

Jack Sheppard's Escape from the New Prison.

In consequence of Jack Sheppard's desperate character, it was judged
expedient by the keeper of the New Prison to load him with fetters of
unusual weight, and to place him in a cell which, from its strength and
security, was called the Newgate Ward. The ward in which he was
confined, was about six yards in length, and three in width, and in
height, might be about twelve feet. The windows which were about nine
feet from the floor, had no glass; but were secured by thick iron bars,
and an oaken beam. Along the floor ran an iron bar to which Jack's chain
was attached, so that he could move along it from one end of the chamber
to the other. No prisoner except Edgeworth Bess was placed in the same
cell with him. Jack was in excellent spirits; and by his wit, drollery
and agreeable demeanour, speedily became a great favourite with the
turnkey, who allowed him every indulgence consistent with his situation.
The report of his detention caused an immense sensation. Numberless
charges were preferred against him, amongst others, information was
lodged of the robbery at Dollis Hill, and murder of Mrs. Wood, and a
large reward offered for the apprehension of Blueskin; and as, in
addition to this, Jack had threatened to impeach Wild, his next
examination was looked forward to with the greatest interest.

The day before this examination was appointed to take place--the third
of the prisoner's detention--an old man, respectably dressed, requested
permission to see him. Jack's friends were allowed to visit him,; but as
he had openly avowed his intention of attempting an escape, their
proceedings were narrowly watched. The old man was conducted to Jack's
cell by the turnkey, who remained near him during their interview. He
appeared to be a stranger to the prisoner, and the sole motive of his
visit, curiosity. After a brief conversation, which Sheppard sustained
with his accustomed liveliness, the old man turned to Bess and addressed
a few words of common-place gallantry to her. While this was going on,
Jack suddenly made a movement which attracted the turnkey's attention;
and during that interval the old man slipped some articles wrapped in a
handkerchief into Bess's hands, who instantly secreted them in her
bosom. The turnkey looked round the next moment, but the manoeuvre
escaped his observation. After a little further discourse the old man
took his departure.

Left alone with Edgeworth Bess, Jack burst into a loud laugh of
exultation.

"Blueskin's a friend in need," he said. "His disguise was capital; but I
detected it in a moment. Has he given you the tools?"

"He has," replied Bess, producing the handkerchief.

"Bravo," cried Sheppard, examining its contents, which proved to be a
file, a chisel, two or three gimblets, and a piercer. "Jonathan Wild
shall find it's not easy to detain me. As sure as he is now living, I'll
pay him a visit in the Old Bailey before morning. And then I'll pay off
old scores. It's almost worth while being sent to prison to have the
pleasure of escaping. I shall now be able to test my skill." And running
on in this way, he carefully concealed the tools.

Whether the turnkey entertained any suspicion of the old man, Jack could
not tell, but that night he was more than usually rigorous in his
search; and having carefully examined the prisoners and finding nothing
to excite his suspicions, he departed tolerably satisfied.

As soon as he was certain he should be disturbed no more, Jack set to
work, and with the aid of the file in less than an hour had freed
himself from his fetters. With Bess's assistance he then climbed up to
the window, which, as has just been stated, was secured by iron bars of
great thickness crossed by a stout beam of oak. The very sight of these
impediments, would have appalled a less courageous spirit than
Sheppard's--but nothing could daunt him. To work then he went, and with
wonderful industry filed off two of the iron bars. Just as he completed
this operation, the file broke. The oaken beam, nine inches in
thickness, was now the sole but most formidable obstacle to his flight.
With his gimblet he contrived to bore a number of holes so close
together that at last one end of the bar, being completely pierced
through, yielded; and pursuing the same with the other extremity, it
fell out altogether.

This last operation was so fatiguing, that for a short time he was
obliged to pause to recover the use of his fingers. He then descended;
and having induced Bess to take off some part of her clothing, he tore
the gown and petticoat into shreds and twisted them into a sort of rope
which he fastened to the lower bars of the window. With some difficulty
he contrived to raise her to the window, and with still greater
difficulty to squeeze her through it--her bulk being much greater than
his own. He then made a sort of running noose, passed it over her body,
and taking firmly hold of the bars, prepared to guide her descent. But
Bess could scarcely summon resolution enough to hazard the experiment;
and it was only on Jack's urgent intreaties, and even threats, that she
could be prevailed on to trust herself to the frail tenure of the rope
he had prepared. At length, however, she threw herself off; and Jack
carefully guiding the rope she landed in safety.

The next moment he was by her side.

But the great point was still unaccomplished. They had escaped from the
New Prison, it is true; but the wall of Clerkenwell Bridewell, by which
that jail was formerly surrounded, and which was more than twenty feet
high, and protected by formidable and bristling _chevaux de frise_,
remained to be scaled. Jack, however, had an expedient for mastering
this difficulty. He ventured to the great gates, and by inserting his
gimblets into the wood at intervals, so as to form points upon which he
could rest his foot, he contrived, to ascend them; and when at the top,
having fastened a portion of his dress to the spikes, he managed, not
without considerable risk, to draw up his female companion. Once over
the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the
other side of the wall. Having seen his mistress safe down, Jack
instantly descended, leaving the best part of his clothes, as a memorial
of his flight, to the jailor.

And thus he effected his escape from the New Prison.

CHAPTER V.

The Disguise.

In a hollow in the meadows behind the prison whence Jack Sheppard had
escaped,--for, at this time, the whole of the now thickly-peopled
district north of Clerkenwell Bridewell was open country, stretching out
in fertile fields in the direction of Islington--and about a quarter of
a mile off, stood a solitary hovel, known as Black Mary's Hole. This
spot, which still retains its name, acquired the appellation from an old
crone who lived there, and who, in addition to a very equivocal
character for honesty, enjoyed the reputation of being a witch. Without
inquiring into the correctness of the latter part of the story, it may
be sufficient to state, that Black Mary was a person in whom Jack
Sheppard thought he could confide, and, as Edgeworth Bess was incapable
of much further exertion, he determined to leave her in the old woman's
care till the following night, while he shifted for himself and
fulfilled his design--for, however rash or hazardous a project might be,
if once conceived, Jack always executed it,--of visiting Jonathan Wild
at his house in the Old Bailey.

It was precisely two o'clock on the morning of Whit-monday, the 25th of
May 1724, when the remarkable escape before detailed was completed: and,
though it wanted full two hours to daybreak, the glimmer of a waning
moon prevented it from being totally dark. Casting a hasty glance, as he
was about to turn an angle of the wall, at the great gates and upper
windows of the prison, and perceiving no symptoms of pursuit, Jack
proceeded towards the hovel at a very deliberate pace, carefully
assisting his female companion over every obstacle in the road, and
bearing her in his arms when, as was more than once the case, she sank
from fright and exhaustion. In this way he crossed one or two public
gardens and a bowling-green,--the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then
abounded in such places of amusement,--passed the noted Ducking Pond,
where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the
left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination.

Descending the hollow, or rather excavation,--for it was an old disused
clay-pit, at the bottom of which the cottage was situated,--he speedily
succeeded in arousing the ancient sibyl, and having committed Edgeworth
Bess to her care, with a promise of an abundant reward in case she
watched diligently over her safety, and attended to her comforts till
his return,--to all which Black Mary readily agreed,--he departed with a
heart lightened of half its load.

Jack's first object was to seek out Blueskin, whom he had no doubt he
should find at the New Mint, at Wapping, for the Old Mint no longer
afforded a secure retreat to the robber; and, with this view, he
made the best of his way along a bye-lane leading towards
Hockley-in-the-Hole. He had not proceeded far when he was alarmed by the
tramp of a horse, which seemed to be rapidly approaching, and he had
scarcely time to leap the hedge and conceal himself behind a tree, when
a tall man, enveloped in an ample cloak, with his hat pulled over his
brows, rode by at full speed. Another horseman followed quickly at the
heels of the first; but just as he passed the spot where Jack stood, his
steed missed its footing, and fell. Either ignorant of the accident, or
heedless of it, the foremost horseman pursued his way without even
turning his head.

Conceiving the opportunity too favourable to be lost, Jack sprang
suddenly over the hedge, and before the man, who was floundering on the
ground with one foot in the stirrup, could extricate himself from his
embarrassing position, secured his pistols, which he drew from the
holsters, and held them to his head. The fellow swore lustily, in a
voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and
vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword.

"Dog!" thundered Sheppard, putting the muzzle of the pistol so close to
the janizary's ear, that the touch of the cold iron made him start,
"don't you know me?"

"Blood and thunder!" exclaimed Quilt, opening his eyes with
astonishment. "It can't be Captain Sheppard!"

"It _is_," replied Jack; "and you had better have met the devil on your
road than me. Do you remember what I said when you took me at the Mint
four days ago? I told you my turn would come. It _has_ come,--and sooner
than you expected."

"So I find, Captain," rejoined Quilt, submissively; "but you're too
noble-hearted to take advantage of my situation. Besides, I acted for
others, and not for myself."

"I know it," replied Sheppard, "and therefore I spare your life."

"I was sure you wouldn't injure me, Captain," remarked Quilt, in a
wheedling tone, while he felt about for his sword; "you're far too brave
to strike a fallen man."

"Ah! traitor!" cried Jack, who had noticed the movement; "make such
another attempt, and it shall cost you your life." So saying, he
unbuckled the belt to which the janizary's hanger was attached, and
fastened it to his own girdle.

"And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just
ridden by?"

"No," answered Quilt, sullenly.

"Who, then?" demanded Jack. "Speak, or I fire!"

"Well, if you _will_ have it, it's Sir Rowland Trenchard."

"Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement. "What are you doing
with him?"

"It's a long story, Captain, and I've no breath to tell it,--unless you
choose to release me," rejoined Quilt.

"Get up, then," said Jack, freeing his foot from the stirrup.
"Now--begin."

Quilt, however, seemed unwilling to speak.

"I should be sorry to proceed to extremities," continued Sheppard, again
raising the pistol.

"Well, since you force me to betray my master's secrets," replied Quilt,
sullenly, "I've ridden express to Manchester to deliver a message to Sir
Rowland."

"Respecting Thames Darrell?" observed Jack.

"Why, how the devil did you happen to guess that?" cried the janizary.

"No matter," replied Sheppard. "I'm glad to find I'm right. You informed
Sir Rowland that Thames Darrell was returned?"

"Exactly so," replied Quilt, "and he instantly decided upon returning to
London with me. We've ridden post all the way, and I'm horribly tired,
or you wouldn't have mastered me so easily."

"Perhaps not," replied Jack, to whom an idea had suddenly occurred.
"Now, Sir, I'll trouble you for your coat. I've left mine on the spikes
of the New Prison, and must borrow yours."

"Why, surely you can't be in earnest, Captain. You wouldn't rob Mr.
Wild's chief janizary?"

"I'd rob Mr. Wild himself if I met him," retorted Jack. "Come, off with
it, sirrah, or I'll blow out your brains, in the first place, and strip
you afterwards."

"Well, rather than you should commit so great a crime, Captain, here it
is," replied Quilt, handing him the garment in question. "Anything
else?"

"Your waistcoat."

"'Zounds! Captain, I shall get my death of cold. I was in hopes you'd be
content with my hat and wig."

"I shall require them as well," rejoined Sheppard; "and your boots."

"My boots! Fire and fury! They won't fit you; they are too large.
Besides, how am I to ride home without them?"

"Don't distress yourself," returned Jack, "you shall walk. Now," he
added, as his commands were reluctantly obeyed, "help me on with them."

Quilt knelt down, as if he meant to comply; but, watching his
opportunity, he made a sudden grasp at Sheppard's leg, with the
intention of overthrowing him.

But Jack was too nimble for him. Striking out his foot, he knocked half
a dozen teeth down the janizary's throat; and, seconding the kick with a
blow on the head from the butt-end of the pistol, stretched him,
senseless and bleeding on the ground.

"Like master like man," observed Jack as he rolled the inanimate body to
the side of the road. "From Jonathan Wild's confidential servant what
could be expected but treachery?"

With this, he proceeded to dress himself in Quilt Arnold's clothes,
pulled the wig over his face and eyes so as completely to conceal his
features, slouched the hat over his brows, drew the huge boots above his
knees, and muffled himself up in the best way he could. On searching the
coat, he found, amongst other matters, a mask, a key, and a pocket-book.
The latter appeared to contain several papers, which Jack carefully put
by, in the hope that they might turn out of importance in a scheme of
vengeance which he meditated against the thief-taker. He then mounted
the jaded hack, which had long since regained its legs, and was quietly
browsing the grass at the road-side, and, striking spurs into its side,
rode off. He had not proceeded far when he encountered Sir Rowland, who,
having missed his attendant, had returned to look after him.

"What has delayed you?" demanded the knight impatiently.

"My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection--for he
was a capital mimic,--the tones of Quilt Arnold. "It was some time
before I could get him to move."

"I fancied I heard voices," rejoined Sir Rowland.

"So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. This is a noted place
for highwaymen."

"I thought you told me that the rascal who has so long been the terror
of the town--Jack Sheppard--was in custody."

"So he is," returned Jack; "but there's no saying how long he may remain
so. Besides, there are greater rascals than Jack Sheppard at liberty,
Sir Rowland."

Sir Rowland made no reply, but angrily quickened his pace. The pair then
descended Saffron-hill, threaded Field-lane, and, entering Holborn,
passed over the little bridge which then crossed the muddy waters of
Fleet-ditch, mounted Snow-hill, and soon drew in the bridle before
Jonathan Wild's door. Aware of Quilt Arnold's mode of proceeding, Jack
instantly dismounted, and, instead of knocking, opened the door with the
pass-key. The porter instantly made his appearance, and Sheppard ordered
him to take care of the horses.

"Well, what sort of journey have you had, Quilt?" asked the man as he
hastened to assist Sir Rowland to dismount.

"Oh! we've lost no time, as you perceive," replied Jack. "Is the
governor within?"

"Yes; you'll find him in the audience-chamber. He has got Blueskin with
him."

"Ah! indeed! what's he doing here?" inquired Jack.

"Come to buy off Jack Sheppard, I suppose," replied the fellow. "But it
won't do. Mr. Wild has made up his mind, and, when that's the case, all
the persuasion on earth won't turn him. Jack will be tried to-morrow;
and, as sure as my name's Obadiah Lemon he'll take up his quarters at
the King's-Head," pointing to Newgate, "over the way."

"Well, we shall see," replied Jack. "Look to the horses, Obadiah. This
way, Sir Rowland."

As familiar as Quilt Arnold himself with every part of Wild's mysterious
abode, as well as with the ways of its inmates, Jack, without a
moment's hesitation, took up a lamp which was burning in the hall, and
led his companion up the great stone stairs. Arrived at the
audience-chamber, he set down the light upon a stand, threw open the
door, and announced in a loud voice, but with the perfect intonation of
the person he represented,--"Sir Rowland Trenchard."

Jonathan, who was engaged in conversation with Blueskin, instantly
arose, and bowed with cringing ceremoniousness to the knight. The latter
haughtily returned his salutation, and flung himself, as if exhausted,
into a chair.

"You've arrived sooner than I expected, Sir Rowland," observed the
thief-taker. "Lost no time on the road--eh!--I didn't expect you till
to-morrow at the earliest. Excuse me an instant while I dismiss this
person.--You've your answer, Blueskin," he added, pushing that
individual, who seemed unwilling to depart, towards the door; "it's
useless to urge the matter further. Jack is registered in the Black
Book."

"One word before I go," urged Blueskin.

"Not a syllable," replied Wild. "If you talk as long as an Old Bailey
counsel, you'll not alter my determination."

"Won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other.

"Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan, doubtfully. "And you would surrender
yourself--eh?"

"I'll surrender myself at once, if you'll engage to bring him off; and
you'll get the reward from old Wood. It's two hundred pounds. Recollect
that."

"Faithful fellow!" murmured Jack. "I forgive him his disobedience."

"Will you do it?" persisted Blueskin.

"No," replied Wild; "and I've only listened to your absurd proposal to
see how far your insane attachment to this lad would carry you."

"I _do_ love him," cried Blueskin, "and that's the long and short of it.
I've taught him all he can do; and there isn't his fellow, and never
will be again. I've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like
him. If you hang Jack Sheppard, you'll cut off the flower o' the
purfession. But I'll not believe it of you. It's all very well to read
him a lesson, and teach him obedience; but you've gone far enough for
that."

"Not quite," rejoined the thief-taker, significantly.

"Well," growled Blueskin, "you've had my offer."

"And you my warning," retorted Wild. "Good night!"

"Blueskin," whispered Jack, in his natural tones, as the other passed
him, "wait without."

"Power o' mercy!" cried Blueskin starting.

"What's the matter?" demanded Jonathan, harshly.

"Nothin'--nothin'," returned Blueskin; "only I thought--"

"You saw the hangman, no doubt," said Jack. "Take courage, man; it is
only Quilt Arnold. Come, make yourself scarce. Don't you see Mr. Wild's
busy." And then he added, in an under tone, "Conceal yourself outside,
and be within call."

Blueskin nodded, and left the room. Jack affected to close the door, but
left it slightly ajar.

"What did you say to him?" inquired Jonathan, suspiciously.

"I advised him not to trouble you farther about Jack Sheppard," answered
the supposed janizary.

"He seems infatuated about the lad," observed Wild. "I shall be obliged
to hang him to keep him company. And now, Sir Rowland," he continued,
turning to the knight, "to our own concerns. It's a long time since we
met, eight years and more. I hope you've enjoyed your health. 'Slife!
you are wonderfully altered. I should scarcely have known you."

The knight was indeed greatly changed. Though not much passed the middle
term of life, he seemed prematurely stricken with old age. His frame was
wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard,
and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was
perfectly white. His manner, however, was as stern and haughty as ever,
and his glances retained their accustomed fire.

"I did not come hither to consult you as to the state of my health,
Sir," he observed, displeased by Jonathan's allusion to the alteration
in his appearance.

"True," replied Wild. "You were no doubt surprised by the unlooked-for
intelligence I sent you of your nephew's return?"

"Was it _unlooked-for_ on your part?" demanded the knight,
distrustfully.

"On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. "I should as soon have expected
the bones of Tom Sheppard to reunite themselves and walk out of that
case, as Thames Darrell to return. The skipper, Van Galgebrok, affirmed
to me,--nay, gave me the additional testimony of two of his crew,--that
he was thrown overboard. But it appears he was picked up by fishermen,
and carried to France, where he has remained ever since, and where it
would have been well for him if he had remained altogether."

"Have you seen him?" asked Trenchard.

"I have," replied Wild; "and nothing but the evidence of my senses would
have made me believe he was living, after the positive assurance I
received to the contrary. He is at present with Mr. Wood,--the person
whom you may remember adopted him,--at Dollis Hill, near Willesden; and
it's a singular but fortunate circumstance, so far as we are concerned,
that Mrs. Wood chanced to be murdered by Blueskin, the fellow who just
left the room, on the very night of his return, as it has thrown the
house into such confusion, and so distracted them, that he has had no
time as yet for hostile movements."

"And what course do you propose to pursue in reference to him?" asked
Sir Rowland.

"My plan is a very simple one," rejoined the thief-taker smiling
bitterly. "I would treat him as you treated his father, Sir Rowland."

"Murder him!" cried Trenchard shuddering.

"Ay, murder him, if you like the term," returned Wild. "I should call it
putting him out of the way. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is
the same."

"I cannot consent to it," replied Sir Rowland firmly. "Since the sea
has spared him, I will spare him. It is in vain to struggle against the
arm of fate. I will shed no more blood."

"And perish upon the gibbet," rejoined Jonathan contemptuously.

"Flight is still left me," replied Trenchard. "I can escape to France."

"And do you think I'll allow you to depart," cried Jonathan in a
menacing tone, "and compromise _my_ safety? No, no. We are linked
together in this matter, and must go through with it. You cannot--shall
not retreat."

"Death and hell!" cried Sir Rowland, rising and drawing his sword; "do
you think you can shackle my free will, villain?"

"In this particular instance I do, Sir Rowland," replied Jonathan,
calmly, "because you are wholly in my power. But be patient, I am your
fast friend. Thames Darrell MUST die. Our mutual safety requires it.
Leave the means to me."

"More blood! more blood!" cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony
across his brow. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my
couch--the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!--the
mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!--And
must another be added to their number--their son! Horror!--let me be
spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet--my name tarnished--my
escutcheon blotted by the hangman!--No, I cannot submit to that."

"I should think not," observed Jonathan, who had some practice in the
knight's moods, and knew how to humour him. "It's a miserable weakness
to be afraid of bloodshed.--The general who gives an order for wholesale
carnage never sleeps a wink the less soundly for the midnight groans of
his victims, and we should deride him as a coward if he did. And life is
much the same, whether taken in battle, on the couch, or by the
road-side. Besides those whom I've slain with my own hands, I've
brought upwards of thirty persons to the gallows. Most of their relics
are in yonder cases; but I don't remember that any of them have
disturbed my rest. The mode of destruction makes no difference. It's
precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell's
throat, as to order Jack Sheppard's execution."

As Jonathan said this, Jack's hand involuntarily sought a pistol.

"But to the point," continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which
the remark had placed him,--"to the point. On the terms that procured
your liberation from Newgate, I will free you from this new danger."

"Those terms were a third of my estate," observed Trenchard bitterly.

"What of that," rejoined Jonathan. "Any price was better than your head.
If Thames Darrell escapes, you will lose both life and property."

"True, true," replied the knight, with an agonized look; "there is no
alternative."

"None whatever," rejoined Wild. "Is it a bargain?"

"Take half of my estate--take all--my life, if you will--I am weary of
it!" cried Trenchard passionately.

"No," replied Jonathan, "I'll not take you at your word, as regards the
latter proposition. We shall both, I hope, live to enjoy our
shares--long after Thames Darrell is forgotten--ha! ha! A third of your
estate I accept. And as these things should always be treated as matters
of business, I'll just draw up a memorandum of our arrangement."

And, as he spoke, he took up a sheet of paper, and hastily traced a few
lines upon it.

"Sign this," he said, pushing the document towards Sir Rowland.

The knight mechanically complied with his request.

"Enough!" cried Jonathan, eagerly pocketing the memorandum. "And now, in
return for your liberality, I'll inform you of a secret with which it is
important you should be acquainted."

"A secret!" exclaimed Trenchard. "Concerning whom?"

"Mrs. Sheppard," replied Jonathan, mysteriously.

"Mrs. Sheppard!" echoed Jack, surprised out of his caution.

"Ah!" exclaimed Wild, looking angrily towards his supposed attendant.

"I beg pardon, Sir," replied Jack, with the accent and manner of the
janizary; "I was betrayed into the exclamation by my surprise that
anything in which Sir Rowland Trenchard was interested could have
reference to so humble a person as Mrs. Sheppard."

"Be pleased, then, in future not to let your surprise find vent in
words," rejoined Jonathan, sternly. "My servants, like Eastern mutes,
must have eyes, and ears,--and _hands_, if need be,--but no tongues. You
understand me, sirrah?"

"Perfectly," replied Jack. "I'm dumb."

"Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently.

"I need not remind you, Sir Rowland," replied Wild, "that you had two
sisters--Aliva and Constance."

"Both are dead," observed the knight, gloomily.

"Not so;" answered Wild. "Constance is yet living."

"Constance alive? Impossible!" ejaculated Trenchard.

"I've proofs to the contrary," replied Jonathan.

"If this is the case, where is she?"

"In Bedlam," replied the thief-taker, with a Satanic grin.

"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed the knight, upon whom a light seemed
suddenly to break. "You mentioned Mrs. Sheppard. What has she to with
Constance Trenchard?"

"Mrs. Sheppard _is_ Constance Trenchard," replied Jonathan, maliciously.

Here Jack Sheppard was unable to repress an exclamation of astonishment.

"Again," cried Jonathan, sternly: "beware!"

"What!" vociferated Trenchard. "My sister the wife of one condemned
felon! the parent of another! It cannot be."

"It _is_ so, nevertheless," replied Wild. "Stolen by a gipsy when
scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various
vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty,
with the dregs of society. It is useless to trace out her miserable
career; though I can easily do so if you require it. To preserve
herself, however, from destitution, or what she considered worse, she
wedded a journeyman carpenter, named Sheppard."

"Alas! that one so highly born should submit to such a degradation?"
groaned the knight.

"I see nothing surprising in it," rejoined Jonathan. "In the first