dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside.
“What has caused this quarrel, Thames?” asked the little girl, anxiously.
“You,” answered Jack, abruptly.
“No such thing,” rejoined Thames. “I’ll tell you all about it presently. But you must leave us now, dear Winny, Jack and I have something to settle between ourselves. Don’t be afraid. Our quarrel’s quite over.”
“Are you sure of that?” returned Winifred, looking uneasily at Jack.
“Ay, ay,” rejoined Sheppard; “he may do what he pleases — hang me, if he thinks proper — if you wish it.”
With this assurance, and at the reiterated request of Thames, the little girl reluctantly withdrew.
“Come, come, Jack,” said Thames, walking up to Sheppard, and taking his hand, “have done with this. I tell you once more, I’ll say and do nothing to get you into trouble. Best assured of that. But I’m resolved to see Lady Trafford. Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is.”
“So she may,” returned Jack, brightening up; “it’s a good idea. I’ll go with you. But you must see her alone; and that’ll be no easy matter to manage, for she’s a great invalid, and has generally somebody with her. Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard. He’s as savage and suspicious as the devil himself. I should never have noticed the miniature at all, if it hadn’t been for him. He was standing by, rating her ladyship — who can scarcely stir from the sofa — while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box. The next minute, I contrived, without either of ’em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket. I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don’t know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother.”
“That, alone, ought to have prevented you from acting as you did, Jack,” returned Thames, gravely.
“I should never have acted as I did,” rejoined Sheppard, bitterly; “if Mrs. Wood hadn’t struck me. That blow made me a thief. And, if ever I’m brought to the gallows, I shall lay my death at her door.”
“Well, think no more about it,” returned Thames. “Do better in future.”
“I will, when I’ve had my revenge,” muttered Jack. “But, take my advice, and keep out of Sir Rowland’s way, or you’ll get the poor lady into trouble as well as me.”
“Never fear,” replied Thames, taking up his hat. “Come, let’s be off.”
The two boys, then, emerged upon the landing, and were about to descend the stairs, when the voices of Mr. and Mrs. Wood resounded from below. The storm appeared to have blown over, for they were conversing in a very amicable manner with Mr. Kneebone, who was on the point of departing.
“Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us,” observed the woollen-draper.
“Don’t mention it,” returned Wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; “your explanation is perfectly satisfactory.”
“We shall expect you to-morrow,” insinuated Mrs. Wood; “and pray, don’t bring anybody with you — especially Jonathan Wild.”
“No fear of that,” laughed Kneebone. —“Oh! about that boy, Thames Darrell. His safety must be looked to. Jonathan’s threats are not to be sneezed at. The rascal will be at work before the morning. Keep your eye upon the lad. And mind he doesn’t stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till I call.”
“You hear that,” whispered Jack.
“I do,” replied Thames, in the same tone; “we haven’t a moment to lose.”
“Take care of yourself,” said Mr. Wood, “and I’ll take care of Thames. It’s never a bad day that has a good ending. Good night! God bless you!”
Upon this, there was a great shaking of hands, with renewed apologies and protestations of friendship on both sides; after which Mr. Kneebone took his leave.
“And so, you really suspected me?” murmured Mrs. Wood, reproachfully, as they returned to the parlour. “Oh! you men! you men! Once get a thing into your head, and nothing will beat it out.”
“Why, my love,” rejoined her husband, “appearances, you must allow, were a little against you. But since you assure me you didn’t write the letters, and Mr. Kneebone assures me he didn’t receive them, I can’t do otherwise than believe you. And I’ve made up my mind that a husband ought to believe only half that he hears, and nothing that he sees.”
“An excellent maxim!” replied his wife, approvingly; “the best I ever heard you utter.”
“I must now go and look after Thames,” observed the carpenter.
“Oh! never mind him: he’ll take no harm! Come with me into the parlour. I can’t spare you at present. Heigho!”
“Now for it!” cried Jack, as the couple entered the room: “the coast’s clear.”
Thames was about to follow, when he felt a gentle grasp upon his arm. He turned, and beheld Winifred.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I shall be back presently,” replied Thames, evasively.
“Don’t go, I beg of you!” she implored. “You’re in danger. I overheard what Mr. Kneebone said, just now.”
“Death and the devil! what a cursed interruption!” cried Jack, impatiently. “If you loiter in this way, old Wood will catch us.”
“If you stir, I’ll call him!” rejoined Winifred. “It’s you, Jack, who are persuading my brother to do wrong. Thames,” she urged, “the errand, on which you’re going, can’t be for any good, or you wouldn’t be afraid of mentioning it to my father.”
“He’s coming!” cried Jack, stamping his foot, with vexation. “Another moment, and it’ll be too late.”
“Winny, I must go!” said Thames, breaking from her.
“Stay, dear Thames! — stay!” cried the little girl. “He hears me not! he’s gone!” she added, as the door was opened and shut with violence; “something tells me I shall never see him again!”
When her father, a moment afterwards, issued from the parlour to ascertain the cause of the noise, he found her seated on the stairs, in an agony of grief.
“Where’s Thames?” he hastily inquired.
Winifred pointed to the door. She could not speak.
“And Jack?”
“Gone too,” sobbed his daughter.
Mr. Wood uttered something like an imprecation.
“God forgive me for using such a word!” he cried, in a troubled tone; “if I hadn’t yielded to my wife’s silly request, this wouldn’t have happened!”
CHAPTER 7.
BROTHER AND SISTER.
On the same evening, in a stately chamber of a noble old mansion of Elizabeth’s time, situated in Southampton Fields, two persons were seated. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. It was no easy matter to