“I cannot consent to it,” replied Sir Rowland firmly.  “Since the sea has spared him, I will spare him.  It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate.  I will shed no more blood.”

“And perish upon the gibbet,” rejoined Jonathan contemptuously.

“Flight is still left me,” replied Trenchard.  “I can escape to France.”

“And do you think I’ll allow you to depart,” cried Jonathan in a menacing tone, “and compromise my safety?  No, no.  We are linked together in this matter, and must go through with it.  You cannot—­shall not retreat.”

“Death and hell!” cried Sir Rowland, rising and drawing his sword; “do you think you can shackle my free will, villain?”

“In this particular instance I do, Sir Rowland,” replied Jonathan, calmly, “because you are wholly in my power.  But be patient, I am your fast friend.  Thames Darrell MUST die.  Our mutual safety requires it.  Leave the means to me.”

“More blood! more blood!” cried Trenchard, passing his hand with agony across his brow.  “Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—­the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—­the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—­And must another be added to their number—­their son!  Horror!—­let me be spared this new crime!  And yet the gibbet—­my name tarnished—­my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—­No, I cannot submit to that.”

“I should think not,” observed Jonathan, who had some practice in the knight’s moods, and knew how to humour him.  “It’s a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed.—­The general who gives an order for wholesale carnage never sleeps a wink the less soundly for the midnight groans of his victims, and we should deride him as a coward if he did.  And life is much the same, whether taken in battle, on the couch, or by the road-side.  Besides those whom I’ve slain with my own hands, I’ve brought upwards of thirty persons to the gallows.  Most of their relics are in yonder cases; but I don’t remember that any of them have disturbed my rest.  The mode of destruction makes no difference.  It’s precisely the same thing to me to bid my janizaries cut Thames Darrell’s throat, as to order Jack Sheppard’s execution.”

As Jonathan said this, Jack’s hand involuntarily sought a pistol.

“But to the point,” continued Wild, unconscious of the peril in which the remark had placed him,—­“to the point.  On the terms that procured your liberation from Newgate, I will free you from this new danger.”

“Those terms were a third of my estate,” observed Trenchard bitterly.

“What of that,” rejoined Jonathan.  “Any price was better than your head.  If Thames Darrell escapes, you will lose both life and property.”

“True, true,” replied the knight, with an agonized look; “there is no alternative.”

“None whatever,” rejoined Wild.  “Is it a bargain?”

“Take half of my estate—­take all—­my life, if you will—­I am weary of it!” cried Trenchard passionately.