“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.”