plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate. “This tongue looks remarkably nice,” he added, slicing off an immense wedge, “excuse me—ho! ho!”
“You make yourself at home, I perceive,” observed Kneebone, with a look of ineffable disgust.
“I generally do,” replied Blueskin, pouring out a bumper of sack. “Your health, Kneebone.”
“Allow me to offer you a glass of usquebaugh, my dear,” said Kneebone, turning from him, and regarding Edgeworth Bess with a stare so impertinent, that even that not over-delicate young lady summoned up a blush.
“With pleasure, Sir,” replied Edgeworth Bess. “Dear me!” she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, “what a beautiful ring that is.”
“Do you think so?” replied Kneebone, taking it off, and placing it on her finger, which he took the opportunity of kissing at the same time; “wear it for my sake.”
“Oh, dear!” simpered Edgeworth Bess, endeavouring to hide her confusion by looking steadfastly at her plate.
“You don’t eat,” continued Kneebone, addressing Jack, who had remained for some time thoughtful, and pre-occupied with his head upon his hand.
“The Captain has seldom much appetite,” replied Blueskin, who, having disposed of the fowl, was commencing a vigorous attack upon the sirloin. “I eat for both.”
“So it seems,” observed the woollen-draper, “and for every one else, too.”
“I say, Kneebone,” rejoined Blueskin, as he washed down an immense mouthful with another bumper, “do you recollect how nearly Mr. Wild and I were nabbing you in this very room, some nine years ago?”
“I do,” replied Kneebone; “and now,” he added, aside, “the case is altered. I’m nearly nabbing you.”
“A good deal has occurred since then, eh, Captain!” said Blueskin, nudging Jack.
“Much that I would willingly forget. Nothing that I desire to remember,” replied Sheppard, sternly. “On that night,—in this room,—in your presence, Blueskin,—in yours Mr. Kneebone, Mrs. Wood struck me a blow which made me a robber.”
“She has paid dearly for it,” muttered Blueskin.
“She has,” rejoined Sheppard. “But I wish her hand had been as deadly as yours. On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. On that night, I surrendered myself to Jonathan Wild, and became—what I am.”
“On that night, you first met me, love,” said Edgeworth Bess, endeavouring to take his hand, which he coldly withdrew.
“And me,” added Mrs. Maggot tenderly.
“Would I had never seen either of you!” cried Jack, rising and pacing the apartment with a hurried step.
“Well, I’m sure Winifred could never have loved you as well as I do,” said Mrs. Maggot.
“You!” cried Jack, scornfully. “Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me.”
“Except me, dear,” insinuated Edgeworth Bess. “I’ve been always true to you.”
“Peace!” retorted Jack, with increased bitterness. “I’m your dupe no longer.”
“What the devil’s in the wind now, Captain?” cried Blueskin, in astonishment.
“I’ll tell you,” replied Jack, with forced calmness. “Within the last few minutes, all my guilty life has passed before me. Nine years ago, I was honest—was happy. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended.”
“Come, come, don’t take on thus, Captain,” cried Blueskin, rising and walking towards him. “If any one’s to blame, it’s me. I’m ready to bear it all.”
“Can you make me honest?” cried Jack. “Can you make me other than a condemned felon? Can you make me not Jack Sheppard?”
“No,” replied Blueskin; “and I wouldn’t if I could.”
“Curse you!” cried Jack, furiously,—“curse you!—curse you!”
“Swear away, Captain,” rejoined Blueskin, coolly. “It’ll ease your mind.”
“Do you mock me?” cried Jack, levelling a pistol at him.
“Not I,” replied Blueskin. “Take my life, if you’re so disposed. You’re welcome to it. And let’s see if either of these women, who prate of their love for you, will do as much.”
“This is folly,” cried Jack, controlling himself by a powerful effort.
“The worst of folly,” replied Blueskin, returning to the table, and taking up a glass; “and, to put an end to it, I shall drink the health of Jack Sheppard, the housebreaker, and success to him in all his enterprises. And now, let’s see who’ll refuse the pledge.”
“I will,” replied Sheppard, dashing the glass from his hand. “Sit down, fool!”
“Jack,” said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, “are these regrets for your past life sincere?”
“Suppose them so,” rejoined Jack, “what then?”
“Nothing—nothing,” stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. “I’m glad to hear it, that’s all,” he added, taking out his snuff-box, his never-failing resource in such emergencies. “It won’t do to betray the officer,” he muttered.
“O lud! what an exquisite box!” cried Edgeworth Bess. “Is it gold?”
“Pure gold,” replied Kneebone. “It was given me by poor dear Mrs. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore.”
“Pray, let me have a pinch!” said Edgeworth Bess, with a captivating glance. “I am so excessively fond of snuff.”
The woollen-draper replied by gallantly handing her the box, which was instantly snatched from her by Blueskin, who, after helping himself to as much of its contents as he could conveniently squeeze between his thumb and finger, put it very coolly in his pocket.
The action did not pass unnoticed by Sheppard.
“Restore it,” he cried, in an authoritative voice.
“O’ons! Captain,” cried Blueskin, as he grumblingly obeyed the command; “if you’ve left off business yourself, you needn’t interfere with other people.”
“I should like a little of that plum-tart,” said Mrs. Maggot; “but I don’t see a spoon.”
“I’ll ring for one,” replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; “but I fear my servants are gone to bed.”
Blueskin,
