is admirably guarded, I must say. Ireton, you are in league with him.”
“Sir,” said the chief turnkey, indignantly.
“You are, Sir,” thundered Jonathan; “and, unless you find him, you shan’t hold your place a week. I don’t threaten idly, as you know. And you, Austin; and you Langley, I say the same thing to you.”
“But, Mr. Wild,” implored the turnkeys.
“I’ve said it,” rejoined Jonathan, peremptorily. “And you, Marvel, you must have been a party —”
“I, Sir!”
“If he’s not found, I’ll get a new hangman.”
“Zounds!” cried Marvel, “I—”
“Hush!” whispered the tapstress, “or I retract my promise.”
“Mrs. Spurling,” said Jonathan, who overheard the whisper, “you owe your situation to me. If you have aided Jack Sheppard’s escape, you shall owe your discharge to me also.”
“As you please, Sir,” replied the tapstress, coolly. “And the next time Captain Darrell wants a witness, I promise you he shan’t look for one in vain.”
“Ha! hussy, dare you threaten?” cried Wild; but, checking himself, he turned to Ireton and asked, “How long have the women been gone?”
“Scarcely five minutes,” replied the latter.
“One of you fly to the market,” returned Jonathan; “another to the river; a third to the New Mint. Disperse in every direction. We’ll have him yet. A hundred pounds to the man who takes him.”
So saying, he rushed out, followed by Ireton and Langley.
“A hundred pounds!” exclaimed Shotbolt. “That’s a glorious reward. Do you think he’ll pay it?”
“I’m sure of it,” replied Austin.
“Then I’ll have it before to-morrow morning,” said the keeper of the New Prison, to himself. “If Jack Sheppard sups with Mr. Kneebone, I’ll make one of the party.”
CHAPTER 11.
DOLLIS HILL REVISITED.
About an hour after the occurrences at Newgate, the door of the small back-parlour already described at Dollis Hill was opened by Winifred, who, gliding noiselessly across the room, approached a couch, on which was extended a sleeping female, and, gazing anxiously at her pale careworn countenance, murmured — “Heaven be praised! she still slumbers — slumbers peacefully. The opiate has done its duty. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!”
Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper — deathlike and deep. Its very calmness was frightful. Her lips were apart, but no breath seemed to issue from them; and, but for a slight — very slight palpitation of the bosom, the vital principle might be supposed to be extinct. This lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme sharpness of her features — especially the nose and chin — and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her drapery. Her attenuated arms were crossed upon her breast; and her black brows and eyelashes contrasted fearfully with the livid whiteness of her skin. A few short, dark locks, escaping from beneath her head-dress, showed that her hair had been removed, and had only been recently allowed to grow again.
“Poor Mrs. Sheppard!” sighed Winifred, as she contemplated the beautiful wreck before her — “Poor Mrs. Sheppard! when I see her thus, and think of all she has endured, of all she may yet have to endure, I could almost pray for her release from trouble. I dare not reflect upon the effect that her son’s fate — if the efforts to save him are ineffectual — may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs.”
As she said this, she drew a little aside, while Mrs. Sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever.
“Where am I?” she cried, passing her hand across her brow.
“With your friends, dear Mrs. Sheppard,” replied Winifred, advancing.
“Ah! you are there, my dear young lady,” said the widow, smiling faintly; “when I first waken, I’m always in dread of finding myself again in that horrible asylum.”
“You need never be afraid of that,” returned Winifred, affectionately; “my father will take care you never leave him more.”
“Oh! how much I owe him!” said the widow, with fervour, “for bringing me here, and removing me from those dreadful sights and sounds, that would have driven me distracted, even if I had been in my right mind. And how much I owe you, too, dearest Winifred, for your kindness and attention. Without you I should never have recovered either health or reason. I can never be grateful enough. But, though I cannot reward you, Heaven will.”
“Don’t say anything about it, dear Mrs. Sheppard,” rejoined Winifred, controlling her emotion, and speaking as cheerfully as she could; “I would do anything in the world for you, and so would my father, and so would Thames; but he ought, for he’s your nephew, you know. We all love you dearly.”
“Bless you! bless you!” cried Mrs. Sheppard, averting her face to hide her tears.
“I mustn’t tell you what Thames means to do for you if ever he gains his rights,” continued Winifred; “but I may tell you what my father means to do.”
“He has done too much already,” answered the widow. “I shall need little more.”
“But, do hear what it is,” rejoined Winifred; “you know I’m shortly to be united to your nephew — that is,” she added, blushing, “when he can be married by his right name, for my father won’t consent to it before.”
“Your father will never oppose your happiness, my dear, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Sheppard; “but, what has this to do with me?”
“You shall hear,” replied Winifred; “when this marriage takes place, you and I shall be closely allied, but my father wishes for a still closer alliance.”
“I don’t unterstand you,” returned Mrs. Sheppard.
“To be plain, then,” said Winifred, “he has asked me whether I have any objection to you as a mother.”
“And what — what was your answer?” demanded the widow, eagerly.
“Can’t you guess?” returned Winifred, throwing her arms about her neck. “That he couldn’t choose any one so agreeable to me.”
“Winifred,” said Mrs. Sheppard, after a brief pause, during which she appeared overcome by her feelings — she said, gently disengaging herself from the young girl’s embrace, and speaking in a firm voice, “you must dissuade your
