"Mr. Bird, the turner, who is an old friend of our's, has some acquaintance with the turnkeys of Newgate," replied Winifred, "and by his means my father hoped to convey some implements to Jack, by which he might effect another escape."
"I see," remarked Kneebone. "This must be prevented," he added to himself.
"Heaven grant you may have been wrongly informed with respect to Thames!" exclaimed Winifred; "but, I beseech you, on no account to mention what you have told me to my poor father. He is not in a state of mind to bear it."
"Rely on me," rejoined Kneebone. "One word before we part, adorable girl—only one," he continued, detaining her. "I would not venture to renew my suit while Thames lived, because I well knew your affections were fixed upon him. But now that this bar is removed, I trust I may, without impropriety, urge it."
"No more of this," said Winifred, angrily. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?"
"Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. My whole life shall be devoted to you, beloved girl. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me."
"Sir!" exclaimed Winifred.
"You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses.
"Let me go," cried Winifred. "I disbelieve the whole story you have told me."
"By Heaven!" cried Kneebone, with increasing fervour, "it is true—as true as my affection for you."