on his toilette. His apparel was sumptuous in the extreme, and such as was only worn by persons of the highest distinction. It consisted of a full-dress coat of brown flowered velvet, laced with silver; a waistcoat of white satin, likewise richly embroidered; shoes with red heels, and large diamond buckles; pearl-coloured silk stockings with gold clocks; a muslin cravat, or steen-kirk, as it was termed, edged with the fine point lace; ruffles of the same material, and so ample as almost to hide the tips of his fingers; and a silver-hilted sword. This costume, though somewhat extravagant, displayed his slight, but perfectly-proportioned figure to the greatest advantage. The only departure which he made from the fashion of the period, was in respect to the peruke — an article he could never be induced to wear. In lieu of it, he still adhered to the sleek black crop, which, throughout life, formed a distinguishing feature in his appearance. Ever since the discovery of his relationship to the Trenchard family, a marked change had taken place in Jack’s demeanour and looks, which were so much refined and improved that he could scarcely be recognised as the same person. Having only seen him in the gloom of a dungeon, and loaded with fetters, Kneebone had not noticed this alteration: but he was now greatly struck by it. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned.
“I am expected, I find,” observed Jack, glancing at the well-covered board.
“You are,” replied Kneebone. “When I heard of your escape, I felt sure I should see you.”
“You judged rightly,” rejoined Jack; “I never yet broke an engagement with friend or foe — and never will.”
“A bold resolution,” said the woollen-draper. “You must have made some exertion to keep your present appointment. Few men could have done as much.”
“Perhaps not,” replied Jack, carelessly. “I would have done more, if necessary.”
“Well, take a chair,” rejoined Kneebone. “I’ve waited supper, you perceive.”
“First, let me introduce my friends,” returned Jack, stepping to the door.
“Friends!” echoed Kneebone, with a look of dismay. “My invitation did not extend to them.”
Further remonstrance, however, was cut short by the sudden entrance of Mrs. Maggot and Edgeworth Bess. Behind them stalked Blueskin, enveloped in a rough great-coat, called — appropriately enough in this instance — a wrap-rascal. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. The ladies were, as usual, very gaily dressed; and as usual, also, had resorted to art to heighten their attractions —
From patches, justly placed, they borrow’d graces,
And with vermilion lacquer’d o’er their faces.
Edgeworth Bess wore a scarlet tabby negligée — a sort of undress, or sack, then much in vogue — which suited her to admiration, and upon her head had what was called a fly-cap, with richly-laced lappets. Mrs. Maggot was equipped in a light blue riding-habit, trimmed with silver, a hunting-cap and a flaxen peruke, and, instead of a whip, carried a stout cudgel.
For a moment, Kneebone had hesitated about giving the signal to Shotbolt, but, thinking a more favourable opportunity might occur, he determined not to hazard matters by undue precipitation. Placing chairs, therefore, he invited the ladies to be seated, and, paying a similar attention to Jack, began to help to the various dishes, and otherwise fulfil the duties of a host. While this was going on, Blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly. But finding his hints totally disregarded, he, at length, swaggered up to the table, and thrust in a chair.
“Excuse me,” he said, 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
