Jack Sheppard. Vol. 3

“Would I had never seen either of you!” cried Jack, rising and pacing the apartment with a hurried step.

“Well, I’m sure Winifred could never have loved you as well as I do,” said Mrs. Maggot.

“You!” cried Jack, scornfully. “Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me.”

“Except me, dear,” insinuated Edgeworth Bess. “I’ve been always true to you.”

“Peace!” retorted Jack, with increased bitterness. “I’m your dupe no longer.”

“What the devil’s in the wind now, Captain?” cried Blueskin, in astonishment.

“I’ll tell you,” replied Jack, with forced calmness. “Within the last few minutes, all my guilty life has passed before me. Nine years ago, I was honest—was happy. Nine years ago, I worked in this very house—had a kind indulgent master, whom I robbed—twice robbed, at your instigation, villain; a mistress, whom you have murdered; a companion, whose friendship I have for ever forfeited; a mother, whose heart I have well-nigh broken. In this room was my ruin begun: in this room it should be ended.”

“Come, come, don’t take on thus, Captain,” cried Blueskin, rising and walking towards him. “If any one’s to blame, it’s me. I’m ready to bear it all.”

“Can you make me honest?” cried Jack. “Can you make me other than a condemned felon? Can you make me not Jack Sheppard?”

“No,” replied Blueskin; “and I wouldn’t if I could.”

“Curse you!” cried Jack, furiously,—“curse you!—curse you!”

“Swear away, Captain,” rejoined Blueskin, coolly. “It’ll ease your mind.”

“Do you mock me?” cried Jack, levelling a pistol at him.

“Not I,” replied Blueskin. “Take my life, if you’re so disposed. You’re welcome to it. And let’s see if either of these women, who prate of their love for you, will do as much.”

“This is folly,” cried Jack, controlling himself by a powerful effort.

“The worst of folly,” replied Blueskin, returning to the table, and taking up a glass; “and, to put an end to it, I shall drink the health of Jack Sheppard, the housebreaker, and success to him in all his enterprises. And now, let’s see who’ll refuse the pledge.”

“I will,” replied Sheppard, dashing the glass from his hand. “Sit down, fool!”

“Jack,” said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, “are these regrets for your past life sincere?”

“Suppose them so,” rejoined Jack, “what then?”

“Nothing—nothing,” stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. “I’m glad to hear it, that’s all,” he added, taking out his snuff-box, his never-failing resource in such emergencies. “It won’t do to betray the officer,” he muttered.

“O lud! what an exquisite box!” cried Edgeworth Bess. “Is it gold?”

“Pure gold,” replied Kneebone. “It was given me by poor dear Mrs. Wood, whose loss I shall ever deplore.”

“Pray, let me have a pinch!” said Edgeworth Bess, with a captivating glance. “I am so excessively fond of snuff.”

The woollen-draper replied by gallantly handing her the box, which was instantly snatched from her by Blueskin, who, after helping himself to as much of its contents as he could conveniently squeeze between his thumb and finger, put it very coolly in his pocket.

The action did not pass unnoticed by Sheppard.

“Restore it,” he cried, in an authoritative voice.

“O’ons! Captain,” cried Blueskin, as he grumblingly obeyed the command; “if you’ve left off business yourself, you needn’t interfere with other people.”

“I should like a little of that plum-tart,” said Mrs. Maggot; “but I don’t see a spoon.”

“I’ll ring for one,” replied Kneebone, rising accordingly; “but I fear my servants are gone to bed.”

Blueskin, meanwhile, having drained and replenished his glass, commenced chaunting a snatch of a ballad:—

Once on a time, as I’ve heard tell.
In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell;
A carpenter he was by trade,
And money, I believe, he made.
With his foodle doo!

This carpenter he had a wife,
The plague and torment of his life,
Who, though she did her husband scold,
Loved well a woollen-draper bold.
With her foodle doo!

“I’ve a toast to propose,” cried Sheppard, filling a bumper. “You won’t refuse it, Mr. Kneebone?”

“He’d better not,” muttered Blueskin.

“What is it?” demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass.

“The speedy union of Thames Darrell with Winifred Wood,” replied Jack.

Kneebone’s cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song.

Now Owen Wood had one fair child,
Unlike her mother, meek and mild;
Her love the draper strove to gain,
But she repaid him with disdain.
With his foodle doo!

“Peace!” cried Jack.

But Blueskin was not to be silenced. He continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader.

In vain he fondly urged his suit,
And, all in vain, the question put;
She answered,—“Mr. William Kneebone,
Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone.”
With your foodle doo!

“Thames Darrell has my heart alone,
A noble youth, e’en you must own;