you so!” rejoined Kneebone; “then be this your passport to eternity.”
Upon which he drew the trigger of the pistol, which, luckily for the individual against whom it was aimed, flashed in the pan.
“I might now send you on a similar journey!” replied Jonathan, with a bitter smile, and preserving the unmoved demeanour he had maintained throughout; “but I prefer conveying you, in the first instance, to Newgate. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow.”
So saying, he sprang, with a bound like that of a tiger-cat, against the throat of the woollen-draper. And so sudden and well-directed was the assault, that he completely overthrew his gigantic antagonist.
“Lend a hand with the ruffles, Blueskin!” he shouted, as that personage, who had just recovered from the stunning effects of the blow, contrived to pick himself up. “Look quick, d——n you, or we shall never master him!”
“Murder!” shrieked Mrs. Wood, at the top of her voice.
“Here’s a pistol!” cried Thames, darting towards the undischarged weapon dropped by Blueskin in the scuffle, and pointing it at Jonathan. “Shall I shoot him?”
“Yes! yes! put it to his ear!” cried Mrs. Wood; “that’s the surest way!”
“No! no! give it me!” vociferated Wood, snatching the pistol, and rushing to the door, against which he placed his back.
“I’ll soon settle this business. Jonathan Wild!” he added, in a loud voice, “I command you to release your prisoner.”
“So I will,” replied Jonathan, who, with Blueskin’s aid, had succeeded in slipping a pair of handcuffs over the woollen-draper’s wrists, “when I’ve Mr. Walpole’s order to that effect — but not before.”
“You’ll take the consequences, then?”
“Willingly.”
“In that case I arrest you, and your confederate, Joseph Blake, alias Blueskin, on a charge of felony,” returned Wood, brandishing his staff; “resist my authority, if you dare.”
“A clever device,” replied Jonathan; “but it won’t serve your turn. Let us pass, Sir. Strike the gag, Blueskin.”
“You shall not stir a footstep. Open the window, Thames, and call for assistance.”
“Stop!” cried Jonathan, who did not care to push matters too far, “let me have a word with you, Mr. Wood.”
“I’ll have no explanations whatever,” replied the carpenter, disdainfully, “except before a magistrate.”
“At least state your charge. It is a serious accusation.”
“It is,” answered Wood. “Do you recollect this key? Do you recollect to whom you gave it, and for what purpose? or shall I refresh your memory?”
Wild appeared confounded.
“Release your prisoner,” continued Wood, “or the window is opened.”
“Mr. Wood,” said Jonathan, advancing towards him, and speaking in a low tone, “the secret of your adopted son’s birth is known to me. The name of his father’s murderer is also known to me. I can help you to both — nay, I will help you to both, if you do not interfere with my plans. The arrest of this person is of consequence to me. Do not oppose it, and I will serve you. Thwart me, and I become your mortal enemy. I have but to give a hint of that boy’s existence in the proper quarter, and his life will not be worth a day’s purchase.”
“Don’t listen to him, father,” cried Thames, unconscious of what was passing; “there are plenty of people outside.”
“Make your choice,” said Jonathan.
“If you don’t decide quickly, I’ll scream,” cried Mrs. Wood, popping her head through the window.
“Set your prisoner free!” returned Wood.
“Take off the ruffles, Blueskin,” rejoined Wild. “You know my fixed determination,” he added in a low tone, as he passed the carpenter. “Before to-morrow night that boy shall join his father.”
So saying, he unlocked the door and strode out of the room.
“Here are some letters, which will let you see what a snake you’ve cherished in your bosom, you uxorious old dotard,” said Blueskin, tossing a packet of papers to Wood, as he followed his leader.
“‘Odd’s-my-life! what’s this?” exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the superscription of one of them. “Why, this is your writing Dolly, and addressed to Mr. Kneebone.”
“My writing! no such thing!” ejaculated the lady, casting a look of alarm at the woollen-draper.
“Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters,” whispered Kneebone, “What’s to be done?”
“What’s to be done! Why, I’m undone! How imprudent in you not to burn them. But men are so careless, there’s no trusting anything to them! However, I must try to brazen it out. — Give me the letters, my love,” she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; “they’re some wicked forgeries.”
“Excuse me, Madam,” replied the carpenter, turning his back upon her, and sinking into a chair: “Thames, my love, bring me my spectacles. My heart misgives me. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to have remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in the way.”
CHAPTER 6.
THE FIRST STEP TOWARDS THE LADDER.
If there is one thing on earth, more lovely than another, it is a fair girl of the tender age of Winifred Wood! Her beauty awakens no feeling beyond that of admiration. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. Beautiful is the girl of twelve — who is neither child nor woman, but something between both, something more exquisite than either!
Such was the fairy creature presented to Thames Darrell, under the following circumstances.
Glad to escape from the scene of recrimination that ensued between his adopted parents, Thames seized the earliest opportunity of retiring, and took his way to a small chamber in the upper part of the house, where he and Jack were accustomed to spend most of their leisure in the amusements, or pursuits, proper to their years. He found the door ajar, and, to his surprise, perceived little Winifred seated at a table, busily engaged in tracing some design upon a sheet of paper. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head.
It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude,
