"I expect no commiseration," returned Mrs. Sheppard, gently, "nor do I need any. But, rather than be the cause of any further misunderstanding between you and my benefactor, I will leave London and its neighbourhood for ever."
"Pray do so, Madam," retorted Mrs. Wood, "and take your son with you."
"My son!" echoed the widow, trembling.
"Yes, your son, Madam. If you can do any good with him, it's more than we can. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold."
"Is this true, Sir?" cried Mrs. Sheppard, with an agonized look at Wood. "I know you'll not deceive me. Is Jack what Mrs. Wood represents him?"
"He's not exactly what I could desire him to be, Joan," replied the carpenter, reluctantly, "But a ragged colt sometimes makes the best horse. He'll mend, I hope."
"Never," said Mrs. Wood,—"he'll never mend. He has taken more than one step towards the gallows already. Thieves and pickpockets are his constant companions."
"Thieves!" exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, horror-stricken.
"Jonathan Wild and Blueskin have got him into their hands," continued Mrs. Wood.
"Impossible!" exclaimed the widow, wildly.