“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 father from this step.”

“How?” exclaimed the other.  “Can you not love him?”

“Love him!” echoed the widow.  “The feeling is dead within my breast.  My only love is for my poor lost son.  I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—­that I cannot do.”

“Your esteem is all he will require,” urged Winifred.

“He has it, and will ever have it,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, passionately,—­“he has my boundless gratitude, and devotion.  But I am not worthy to be any man’s wife—­far less his wife.  Winifred, you are deceived in me.  You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am.  You know not in what dark places my life has been cast; with what crimes it has been stained.  But the offences I have committed are venial in comparison with what I should commit were I to wed your father.  No—­no, it must never be.”

“You paint yourself worse than you are, dear Mrs. Sheppard,” rejoined Winifred kindly.  “Your faults were the faults of circumstances.”

“Palliate them as you may,” replied the widow, gravely, “they were faults; and as such, cannot be repaired by a greater wrong.  If you love me, do not allude to this subject again.”

“I’m sorry I mentioned it at all, since it distresses you,” returned Winifred; “but, as I knew my father intended to propose to you, if poor Jack should be respited—­”

“If he should be respited?” repeated Mrs. Sheppard, with startling eagerness.  “Does your father doubt it?  Speak! tell me!”

Winifred made no answer.

“Your hesitation convinces me he does,” replied the widow.  “Is Thames returned from London?”

“Not yet,” replied the other; “but I expect him every minute.  My father’s chief fear, I must tell you, is from the baneful influence of Jonathan Wild.”

“That fiend is ever in my path,” exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, with a look, the wildness of which greatly alarmed her companion.  “I cannot scare him thence.”

“Hark!” cried Winifred, “Thames is arrived.  I hear the sound of his horse’s feet in the yard.  Now you will learn the result.”

“Heaven support me!” cried Mrs. Sheppard, faintly.

“Breathe at this phial,” said Winifred.

Shortly afterwards,—­it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—­Mr. Wood entered the room, followed by Thames.  The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—­partly, perhaps, from both causes,—­and wore his left arm in a sling.