“Are you the mother of this child?” inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. Sheppard.
“I am—I am!” cried the widow, snatching the babe, and pressing it to her breast with rapturous delight “God be thanked, I have found it!”
“We have both good reason to be grateful,” added the lady, with great emotion.
“'Sblood!” cried Jonathan, who had listened to the foregoing conversation with angry wonder, “I've been nicely done here. Fool that I was to part with my lantern! But I'll soon set myself straight. What ho! lights! lights!”
And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs.
“Where shall I fly?” exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. “They will kill me, if they find me, as they would have killed my husband and child. Oh God! my limbs fail me.”
“Make an effort, Madam,” cried Mrs. Sheppard, as a storm of furious voices resounded from below, and torches were seen mounting the stairs; “they are coming!—they are coming!—fly!—to the roof! to the roof.”
“No,” cried the lady, “this room—I recollect—it has a back window.”
“It is shut,” said Mrs. Sheppard.
“It is open,” replied the lady, rushing towards it, and springing through the outlet.