"it's a false alarm. They have retired. However, not a moment is to be lost. Give me your hand."
He then hurried Darrell down another short flight of steps, and entered a small chamber at the back of the house. Closing the door, Jonathan next produced his lantern, and, hastening towards the window, undrew a bolt by which it was fastened. A stout wooden shutter, opening inwardly, being removed, disclosed a grating of iron bars. This obstacle, which appeared to preclude the possibility of egress in that quarter, was speedily got rid of. Withdrawing another bolt, and unhooking a chain suspended from the top of the casement, Jonathan pushed the iron framework outwards. The bars dropped noiselessly and slowly down, till the chain tightened at the staple.
"You are free," said he, "that grating forms a ladder, by which you may descend in safety. I learned the trick of the place from one Paul Groves, who used to live here, and who contrived the machine. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account. And now, Sir, have I kept faith with you?"
"You have," replied Darrell. "Here is my purse; and I trust you will let me know to whom I am indebted for this important service."
"It matters not who I am," replied Jonathan, taking the money. "As I said before, I have little reliance upon professions of gratitude."
"I know not how it is," sighed Darrell, "but I feel an unaccountable misgiving at quitting this place. Something tells me I am rushing on greater danger."
"You know best," replied Jonathan, sneeringly; "but if I were in your place I would take the chance of a future and uncertain risk to avoid a present and certain peril."
"You are right," replied Darrell; "the weakness is past. Which is the nearest way to the river?"
"Why, it's an awkward road to direct you," returned Jonathan. "But if you turn to the right when you reach the ground, and keep close to the Mint wall, you'll speedily arrive at White Cross Street; White Cross Street, if you turn again to the right, will bring you into Queen Street; Queen Street, bearing to the left, will conduct you to Deadman's Place; and Deadman's Place to the water-side, not fifty yards from Saint Saviour's stairs, where you're sure to get a boat."
"The very point I aim at," said Darrell as he passed through the outlet.
"Stay!" said Jonathan, aiding his descent; "you had better take my lantern. It may be useful to you. Perhaps you'll give me in return some token, by which I may remind you of this occurrence, in case we meet again. Your glove will suffice."
"There it is;" replied the other, tossing him the glove. "Are you sure these bars touch the ground?"
"They come within a yard of it," answered Jonathan.
"Safe!" shouted Darrell, as he effected a secure landing. "Good night!"
"So," muttered Jonathan, "having started the hare, I'll now unleash the hounds."
With this praiseworthy determination, he was hastening down stairs, with the utmost rapidity, when he encountered a female, whom he took, in the darkness, to be Mrs. Sheppard. The person caught hold of his arm, and, in spite of his efforts to disengage himself, detained him.
"Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. "I heard his voice; but I saw them on the stairs, and durst not approach him, for fear of giving the alarm."
"If you mean the fugitive, Darrell, he has escaped through the back window," replied Jonathan.
"Thank Heaven!" she gasped.
"Well, you women are forgiving creatures, I must say," observed Jonathan, sarcastically. "You thank Heaven for the escape of the man who did his best to get your child's neck twisted."
"What do you mean?" asked the female, in astonishment.
"I mean what I say," replied Jonathan. "Perhaps you don't know that this Darrell so contrived matters, that your child should be mistaken for his own; by which means it had a narrow escape from a tight cravat, I can assure you. However, the scheme answered well enough, for Darrell has got off with his own brat."
"Then this is not my child?" exclaimed she, with increased astonishment.
"If you have a child there, it certainly is not," answered Jonathan, a little surprised; "for I left your brat in the charge of Blueskin, who is still among the crowd in the street, unless, as is not unlikely, he's gone to see your other friend disciplined at the pump."
"Merciful providence!" exclaimed the female. "Whose child can this be?"
"How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain.
"My child! my child!" exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, rushing from the adjoining room. "Where is it?"
"Are you the mother of this child?" inquired the person who had first spoken, addressing Mrs. Sheppard.
"I am—I am!" cried the widow, snatching the babe, and pressing it to her breast with rapturous delight "God be thanked, I have found it!"
"We have both good reason to be grateful," added the lady, with great emotion.
"'Sblood!" cried Jonathan, who had listened to the foregoing conversation with angry wonder, "I've been nicely done here. Fool that I was to part with my lantern! But I'll soon set myself straight. What ho! lights! lights!"
And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs.
"Where shall I fly?" exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. "They will kill me, if they find me, as they would have killed my husband and child. Oh God! my limbs fail me."
"Make an effort, Madam," cried Mrs. Sheppard, as a storm of furious voices resounded from below, and torches were seen mounting the stairs; "they are coming!—they are coming!—fly!—to the roof! to the roof."
"No," cried the lady, "this room—I recollect—it has a back window."
"It is shut," said Mrs. Sheppard.
"It is open," replied the lady, rushing towards it, and springing through the outlet.
"Where is she?" thundered Jonathan, who at this moment reached Mrs. Sheppard.
"She has flown up stairs," replied the widow.
"You lie, hussy!" replied Jonathan, rudely pushing her aside, as she vainly endeavoured to oppose his entrance into the room; "she is here. Hist!" cried he, as a scream was heard from without. "By G—! she has missed her footing."
There was a momentary and terrible silence, broken only by a few feeble groans.
Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch.
He held down the light, and a moment afterwards beckoned, with a blanched cheek, to Rowland.
"Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper.
"Her blood be upon her own head, then," replied Rowland, sternly. "Why came she here?"
"She
