Thames hastily cast his eyes over it, and transferred it, with a look of incredulity, to Wood.
“Gracious Heavens! this is more wonderful than all the rest,” cried the carpenter, rubbing his eyes. “Thames, this is no forgery.”
“You believe it, father?”
“From the bottom of my heart. I always thought Mrs. Sheppard superior to her station.”
“So did I,” said Winifred. “Let me look at the paper.”
“Poor soul!—poor soul!” groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. “Well, I'm glad she's spared this. Oh! Jack, Jack, you've much to answer for!”
“I have, indeed,” replied Sheppard, in a tone of contrition.
“If this document is correct,” continued Wood, “and I am persuaded it is so,—you are as unfortunate as wicked. See what your misconduct has deprived you of—see what you might have been. This is retribution.”
“I feel it,” replied Jack, in a tone of agony, “and I feel it more on my poor mother's account than my own.”
“She has suffered enough for you,” said Wood.