The Collected Novels. William Harrison Ainsworth

it,” said Kneebone; “but Thames Darrell is murdered.”

      “Murdered!” ejaculated Winifred.

      “Basely and inhumanly murdered, by Jack Sheppard and Blueskin,” continued Kneebone.

      “Oh! no — no — no,” cried Winifred, “I cannot believe it. You must be misinformed, Mr. Kneebone. Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend — of that I am assured.”

      “Generous girl!” cried Jack from behind the skreen.

      “I have proofs to the contrary,” replied Kneebone. “The murder was committed after the robbery of my house by Sheppard and his accomplices. I did not choose to mention my knowledge of this fact to your worthy father; but you may rely on its correctness.”

      “You were right not to mention it to him,” rejoined Winifred, “for he is in such a state of distress at the mysterious disappearance of Mrs. Sheppard, that I fear any further anxiety might prove fatal to him. And yet I know not — for the object of his visit here to-night was to serve Jack, who, if your statement is correct, which I cannot however for a moment believe, does not deserve his assistance.”

      “You may rest assured he does not,” rejoined Kneebone, emphatically, “but I am at a loss to understand in what way your father proposes to assist him.”

      “Mr. Bird, the turner, who is an old friend of our’s, has some acquaintance with the turnkeys of Newgate,” replied Winifred, “and by his means my father hoped to convey some implements to Jack, by which he might effect another escape.”

      “I see,” remarked Kneebone. “This must be prevented,” he added to himself.

      “Heaven grant you may have been wrongly informed with respect to Thames!” exclaimed Winifred; “but, I beseech you, on no account to mention what you have told me to my poor father. He is not in a state of mind to bear it.”

      “Rely on me,” rejoined Kneebone. “One word before we part, adorable girl — only one,” he continued, detaining her. “I would not venture to renew my suit while Thames lived, because I well knew your affections were fixed upon him. But now that this bar is removed, I trust I may, without impropriety, urge it.”

      “No more of this,” said Winifred, angrily. “Is this a season to speak on such a subject?”

      “Perhaps not,” rejoined the woollen-draper; “but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. My whole life shall be devoted to you, beloved girl. And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me.”

      “Sir!” exclaimed Winifred.

      “You will make me the happiest of mankind,” cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses.

      “Let me go,” cried Winifred. “I disbelieve the whole story you have told me.”

      “By Heaven!” cried Kneebone, with increasing fervour, “it is true — as true as my affection for you.”

      “I do not doubt it,” retorted Winifred, scornfully; “because I attach credit neither to one nor the other. If Thames is murdered, you are his assassin. Let me go, Sir.”

      The woollen-draper made no answer, but hastily starting up, bolted the door.

      “What do you mean?” cried Winifred in alarm.

      “Nothing more than to obtain a favourable answer to my suit,” replied Kneebone.

      “This is not the way to obtain it,” said Winifred, endeavouring to reach the door.

      “You shall not go, adorable girl,” cried Kneebone, catching her in his arms, “till you have answered me. You must — you shall be mine.”

      “Never,” replied Winifred. “Release me instantly, or I will call my father.”

      “Do so,” replied Kneebone; “but remember the door is locked.”

      “Monster!” cried Winifred. “Help! help!”

      “You call in vain,” returned Kneebone.

      “Not so,” replied Jack, throwing down the skreen. “Release her instantly, villain!”

      Both Winifred and her suitor started at this sudden apparition. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person.

      “In the devil’s name, is that you, Jack!” ejaculated Kneebone.

      “It is,” replied Sheppard. “You have uttered a wilful and deliberate falsehood in asserting that I have murdered Thames, for whom you well know I would lay down my life. Retract your words instantly, or take the consequences.”

      “What should I retract, villain?” cried the woollen-draper, who at the sound of Jack’s voice had regained his confidence. “To the best of my belief, Thames Darrell has been murdered by you.”

      “A lie!” exclaimed Jack in a terrible tone. And before Kneebone could draw his sword, he felled him to the ground with the iron bar.

      “You have killed him,” cried Winifred in alarm.

      “No,” answered Jack, approaching her, “though, if I had done so, he would have merited his fate. You do not believe his statement?”

      “I do not,” replied Winifred. “I could not believe you capable of so foul a deed. But oh! by what wonderful chance have you come hither so seasonably?”

      “I have just escaped from Newgate,” replied Jack; “and am more than repaid for the severe toil I have undergone, in being able to save you. But tell me,” he added with much anxiety, “has nothing been heard of Thames since the night of my former escape?”

      “Nothing whatever,” answered Winifred. “He left Dollis Hill at ten o’clock on that night, and has not since returned. My father has made every possible inquiry, and offered large rewards; but has not been able to discover the slightest trace of him. His suspicions at first fell upon you. But he has since acquitted you of any share in it.”

      “Oh, Heaven!” exclaimed Jack.

      “He has been indefatigable in his search,” continued Winifred, “and has even journeyed to Manchester. But though he visited Sir Rowland Trenchard’s seat, Ashton Hall, he could gain no tidings of him, or of his uncle, Sir Rowland, who, it seems, has left the country.”

      “Never to return,” remarked Jack, gloomily. “Before to-morrow morning I will ascertain what has become of Thames, or perish in the attempt. And now tell me what has happened to my poor mother?”

      “Ever since your last capture, and Thames’s mysterious disappearance, she has been dreadfully ill,” replied Winifred; “so ill, that each day was expected to be her last. She has also been afflicted with occasional returns of her terrible malady. On Tuesday night, she was rather better, and I had left her for a short time, as I thought, asleep on the sofa in the little parlour of which she is so fond —”

      “Well,” exclaimed Jack.

      “On my return, I found the window open, and the room vacant. She was gone.”

      “Did you discover any trace of footsteps?” inquired Jack eagerly.

      “There were some marks near the window; but whether recently made or not could not be ascertained,” replied Winifred.

      “Oh God!” exclaimed Jack, in a tone of the bitterest anguish. “My worst fears are realized. She is in Wild’s power.”

      “I ought to add,” continued Winifred, “that one of her shoes was picked up in the garden, and that prints of her feet were discovered along the soft mould; whether made in flying from any one, or from rushing forth in distracted