The Collected Novels. William Harrison Ainsworth

had married in the mean time a smock-faced, smooth-tongued carpenter named Sheppard. The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows — would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery — and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father.”

      “And terribly you have kept your vow,” replied Mrs. Sheppard.

      “I have,” replied Jonathan. “But I am now coming to the point which most concerns you. Consent to become my wife, and do not compel me to have recourse to violence to effect my purpose, and I will spare your son.”

      Mrs. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul.

      “Swear that you will do this,” she cried.

      “I swear it,” rejoined Jonathan, readily.

      “But what is an oath to you!” cried the widow, distrustfully. “You will not hesitate to break it, if it suits your purpose. I have suffered too much from your treachery. I will not trust you.”

      “As you please,” replied Jonathan, sternly. “Recollect you are in my power. Jack’s life hangs on your determination.”

      “What shall I do?” cried Mrs. Sheppard, in a voice of agony.

      “Save him,” replied Jonathan. “You can do so.”

      “Bring him here — let me see him — let me embrace him — let me be assured that he is safe, and I am yours. I swear it.”

      “Hum!” exclaimed Jonathan.

      “You hesitate — you are deceiving me.”

      “By my soul, no,” replied Jonathan, with affected sincerity. “You shall see him to-morrow.”

      “Delay the marriage till then. I will never consent till I see him.”

      “Yon ask impossibilities,” replied Jonathan, sullenly. “All is prepared. The marriage cannot — shall not be delayed. Yon must be mine to-night.”

      “Force shall not make me yours till Jack is free,” replied the widow, resolutely.

      “An hour hence, I shall return with the priest,” replied Jonathan, striding towards the door.

      And, with a glance of malignant exultation, he quitted the vault, and locked the door.

      “An hour hence, I shall be beyond your malice,” said Mrs. Sheppard, sinking backwards upon the pallet.

      CHAPTER 23.

       THE LAST MEETING BETWEEN JACK SHEPPARD AND HIS MOTHER.

       Table of Contents

      After escaping from the turner’s house, Jack Sheppard skirted St. Sepulchre’s church, and hurrying down Snow Hill, darted into the first turning on the left. Traversing Angel Court, and Green Arbour Court — celebrated as one of Goldsmith’s retreats — he speedily reached Seacoal Lane, and pursuing the same course, which he and Thames had formerly taken, arrived at the yard at the back of Jonathan’s habitation.

      A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild’s dwelling into this yard. Before he forced an entrance, Jack tried it, and, to his great surprise and delight, found it unfastened. Entering the house, he found himself in a narrow passage leading to the back stairs. He had not taken many steps when he perceived Quilt Arnold in the upper gallery, with a lamp in his hand. Hearing a noise below, Quilt called out, supposing it occasioned by the Jew. Jack hastily retreated, and taking the first means of concealment that occurred to him, descended the cellar steps.

      Quilt, meanwhile, came down, examined the door, and finding it unfastened, locked it with a bitter imprecation on his brother-janizary’s carelessness. This done, he followed the course which Jack had just taken. As he crossed the cellar, he passed so near to Jack who had concealed himself behind a piece of furniture that he almost touched him. It was Jack’s intention to have knocked him down with the iron bar; but he was so struck with the janizary’s looks, that he determined to spare him till he had ascertained his purpose. With this view, he suffered him to pass on.

      Quilt’s manner, indeed, was that of a man endeavouring to muster up sufficient resolution for the commission of some desperate crime. He halted — looked fearfully around — stopped again, and exclaimed aloud, “I don’t like the job; and yet it must be done, or Mr. Wild will hang me.” With this, he appeared to pluck up his courage, and stepped forward more boldly.

      “Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent,” muttered Jack to himself. “Heaven grant I may not be too late!”

      Followed by Jack Sheppard, who kept sufficiently near him to watch his proceedings, and yet not expose himself, Quilt unlocked one or two doors which he left open, and after winding his way along a gloomy passage, arrived at the door of a vault. Here he set down the lamp, and took out a key, and as he did so the expression of his countenance was so atrocious, that Jack felt assured he was not wrong in his suspicions.

      By this time, the door was unlocked, and drawing his sword, Quilt entered the cell. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames. Darting forward at this sound, Jack threw open the door, and beheld Quilt kneeling over Thames, who’se hands and feet were bound with cords, and about to plunge his sword into his breast. A blow from the iron bar instantly stretched the ruffian on the floor. Jack then proceeded to liberate the captive from his bondage.

      “Jack!” exclaimed Thames. “Is it you?”

      “It is,” replied Sheppard, as he untied the cords. “I might return the question. Were it not for your voice, I don’t think I should know you. You are greatly altered.”

      Captivity had, indeed, produced a striking alteration in Thames. He looked like the shadow of himself — thin, feeble, hollow-eyed — his beard unshorn — nothing could be more miserable.

      “I have never been out of this horrible dungeon since we last met,” he said; “though how long ago that is, I scarcely know. Night and day have been alike to me.”

      “Six weeks have elapsed since that fatal night,” replied Jack. “During the whole of that time I have been a close prisoner in Newgate, whence I have only just escaped.”

      “Six weeks!” exclaimed Thames, in a melancholy tone. “It seems like six long months to me.”

      “I do not doubt it,” returned Jack; “none but those who have experienced it can understand the miseries of imprisonment.”

      “Do not speak of it,” rejoined Thames, with a look of horror. “Let us fly from this frightful place.”

      “I will conduct you to the outlet,” replied Jack; “but I cannot leave it till I have ascertained whether my mother also is a prisoner here.”

      “I can answer that,” replied Thames. “She is. The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me.”

      “Arm yourself with that ruffian’s weapons,” replied Jack, “and let us search for her.”

      Thames complied. But he was so feeble, that it seemed scarcely possible he could offer any effectual resistance in case of an attack.

      “Lean on me,” said Jack.

      Taking the light, they then proceeded along the passage. There was no other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right. They had not proceeded far when a low moan was heard.

      “She is here,” cried Jack, darting forward.

      A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. It was locked. Jack had brought away the bunch of keys