replied Jack. “See her I will. Leave me behind: I’m not afraid. I’ll be at the Cross Shovels in the course of the day.”
“Nay, if you’re bent upon this folly,” observed Wild, who appeared to have his own reasons for humouring the lad, “I shan’t hinder you. Blueskin will take care of the horses, and I’ll go with you.”
So saying, he dismounted; and flinging his bridle to his companion, and ordering him to ride off to a little distance, he followed Jack, who had quitted the main road, and struck into a narrow path opposite the cage. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile.
“There’s the house,” said Jack, pointing to a pretty cottage, the small wooden porch of which was covered with roses and creepers, with a little trim garden in front of it. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Don’t hurry yourself,” said Jonathan, “I’ll wait for you here.”
CHAPTER 19.
GOOD AND EVIL.
As Jack opened the gate, and crossed the little garden, which exhibited in every part the neatness and attention of its owner, he almost trembled at the idea of further disturbing her peace of mind. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. The rooks were cawing amid the boughs, and all nature appeared awaking to happiness. From this peaceful scene Jack’s eye fell upon Jonathan, who, seated upon the stile, under the shade of an elder tree, was evidently watching him. A sarcastic smile seemed to play upon the chief-taker’s lips; and abashed at his own irresolution, the lad went on.
After knocking for some time at the door without effect, he tried the latch, and to his surprise found it open. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. A cat came and rubbed herself against him as he entered the house, and seemed by her mewing to ask him for food. That was the only sound he heard.
Jack was almost afraid of speaking; but at length he summoned courage to call out “Mother!”
“Who’s there?” asked a faint voice from the bed.
“Your son,” answered the boy.
“Jack,” exclaimed the widow, starting up and drawing back the curtain. “Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?”
“You’re not dreaming, mother,” he answered. “I’m come to say good bye to you, and to assure you of my safety before I leave this place.”
“Where are you going?” asked his mother.
“I hardly know,” returned Jack; “but it’s not safe for me to remain much longer here.”
Mrs Sheppard expostulating with her son
“True,” replied the widow, upon whom all the terrible recollections of the day before crowded, “I know it isn’t. I won’t keep you long. But tell me how have you escaped from the confinement in which you were placed — come and sit by me — here — upon the bed — give me your hand — and tell me all about it.”
Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her.
“Jack,” said Mrs. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, “I have been ill — dreadfully ill — I believe delirious — I thought I should have died last night — I won’t tell you what agony you have caused me — I won’t reproach you. Only promise me to amend — to quit your vile companions — and I will forgive you — will bless you. Oh! my dear, dear son, be warned in time. You are in the hands of a wicked, a terrible man, who will not stop till he has completed your destruction. Listen to your mother’s prayers, and do not let her die broken-hearted.”
“It is too late,” returned Jack, sullenly; “I can’t be honest if I would.”
“Oh! do not say so,” replied his wretched parent. “It is never too late. I know you are in Jonathan Wild’s power, for I saw him near you in the church; and if ever the enemy of mankind was permitted to take human form, I beheld him then. Beware of him, my son! Beware of him! You know not what villany he is capable of. Be honest, and you will be happy. You are yet a child; and though you have strayed from the right path, a stronger hand than your own has led you thence. Return, I implore of you, to your master — to Mr. Wood. Acknowledge your faults. He is all kindness, and will overlook them for your poor father’s sake — for mine. Return to him, I say —”
“I can’t,” replied Jack, doggedly.
“Can’t!” repeated his mother. “Why not?”
“I’ll tell you,” cried a deep voice from the back of the bed. And immediately afterwards the curtain was drawn aside, and disclosed the Satanic countenance of Jonathan Wild, who had crept into the house unperceived, “I’ll tell you, why he can’t go back to his master,” cried the thief-taker, with a malignant grin. “He has robbed him.”
“Robbed him!” screamed the widow. “Jack!”
Her son averted his gaze.
“Ay, robbed him,” reiterated Jonathan. “The night before last, Mr. Wood’s house was broken into and plundered. Your son was seen by the carpenter’s wife in company with the robbers. Here,” he added, throwing a handbill on the bed, “are the particulars of the burglary, with the reward for Jack’s apprehension.”
“Ah!” ejaculated the widow, hiding her face.
“Come,” said Wild, turning authoritatively to Jack — “you have overstayed your time.”
“Do not go with him, Jack!” shrieked his mother. “Do not — do not!”
“He must!” thundered Jonathan, “or he goes to jail.”
“If you must go to prison, I will go with you,” cried Mrs. Sheppard: “but avoid that man as you would a serpent.”
“Come along,” thundered Jonathan.
“Hear me, Jack!” shrieked his mother. “You know not what you do. The wretch you confide in has sworn to hang you. As I hope for mercy, I speak the truth! — let him deny it if he can.”
“Pshaw!” said Wild. “I could hang him now if I liked. But he may remain with you if he pleases: I sha’n’t hinder him.”
“You hear, my son,” said the widow eagerly. “Choose between good and evil; — between him and me. And mind, your life — more than your life — hangs upon your choice.”
“It does so,” said Wild. “Choose, Jack.”
The lad made no answer, but left the room.
“He is gone!” cried Mrs. Sheppard despairingly.
“For
