“She has, she has,” said Jack, in a broken voice.
“Weep on, reprobate,” cried the carpenter, a little softened. “Those tears will do you good.”
“Do not distress him, dear father,” said Winifred; “he suffers deeply. Oh, Jack! repent, while it is yet time, of your evil conduct. I will pray for you.”
“I cannot repent,—I cannot pray,” replied Jack, recovering his hardened demeanour. “I should never have been what I am, but for you.”
“How so?” inquired Winifred.
“I loved you,” replied Jack,—“don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy, hopelessly, and it made me desperate. And now I find, when it is too late, that I might have deserved you—that I am as well born as Thames Darrell. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. I have said your life is in danger, Thames. Do not slight my warning. Sir Rowland Trenchard is aware of your return to England. I saw him last night at Jonathan Wild's, after my escape from the New Prison. He had just arrived from Manchester, whence he had been summoned by that treacherous thief-taker. I overheard them planning your assassination. It is to take place to-night.”
“O Heavens!” screamed Winifred, while her father lifted up his hands in silent horror.
“And when I further tell you,” continued Jack, “that, after yourself and my mother, I am the next heir to the estates of my grandfather, Sir Montacute Trenchard, you will perhaps own that my caution is sufficiently disinterested.”
“Could I credit your wild story, I might do so,” returned Thames, with a look of perplexity.
“Here are Jonathan Wild's written instructions to Quilt Arnold,” rejoined Sheppard, producing the pocket-book he had found in the janizary's clothes. “This letter will vouch for me that a communication has taken place between your enemies.”