“My wealth,” replied Mrs. Sheppard. “I have nothing.”
“You are heiress to the Trenchard property,” rejoined Jonathan, “one of the largest estates in Lancashire.”
“Not while Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland live.”
“Sir Rowland is dead,” replied Jonathan, gloomily. “Thames Darrell only waits my mandate to follow him. Before our marriage there will be no life between you and the estates.”
“Ah!” exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard.
“Look here,” cried Jonathan, stooping down and taking hold of a ring in the floor, with which by a great effort he raised up a flag. “In this pit,” he added, pointing to the chasm below, “your brother is buried. Here your nephew will speedily be thrown.”
“Horrible!” cried Mrs. Sheppard, shuddering violently. “But your dreadful projects will recoil on your own head. Heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise.”
“I'll take my chance,” replied Jonathan, with a sinister smile. “My schemes have succeeded tolerably well hitherto.”
“A day of retribution will assuredly arrive,” rejoined Mrs. Sheppard.
“Till then, I shall remain content,” returned Wild. “And now, Mrs. Sheppard, attend to what I'm about to say to you. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you.”