“Oh, nothing—nothing,” returned Mrs. Sheppard. “But pray tell me if her husband has escaped?”
“Her husband!” echoed Jonathan scornfully. “A husband has little to fear from his wife's kinsfolk. Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. However, as things have turned up, it's fortunate that I came back.”
“It is, indeed,” replied Mrs. Sheppard; “most fortunate for me.”
“For you!” exclaimed Jonathan; “don't flatter yourself that I'm thinking of you. Blueskin might have butchered you and your brat before I'd have lifted a finger to prevent him, if it hadn't suited my purposes to do so, and he hadn't incurred my displeasure. I never forgive an injury. Your husband could have told you that.”
“How had he offended you?” inquired the widow.
“I'll tell you,” answered Jonathan, sternly. “He thwarted my schemes twice. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. I told him I would bring him to the gallows, and I was as good as my word.”
“You were so,” replied Mrs Sheppard; “and for that wicked deed you will one day be brought to the gallows yourself.”
“Not before I have conducted your child thither,” retorted Jonathan, with a withering look.
“Ah!” ejaculated Mrs. Sheppard, paralysed by the threat.
“If that sickly brat lives to be a man,” continued Jonathan, rising, “I'll hang him upon the same tree as his father.”