“Poor Jack!” exclaimed Thames.  “I would sacrifice all my fortune—­all my hopes—­to liberate him.”

“If you’re in earnest,” rejoined Blueskin, “give me that bag of gold.  It contains a thousand pounds; and, if all other schemes fail, I’ll engage to free him on the way to Tyburn.”

“May I trust you?” hesitated Thames.

“Why did I not keep the money when I had it?” returned Blueskin, angrily.  “Not a farthing of it shall be expended except in the Captain’s service.”

“Take it,” replied Thames.

“You have saved his life,” replied Blueskin.  “And now, mark me.  You owe what I have done for you, to him, not to me.  Had I not known that you and your affianced bride are dearer to him than life I should have used this money to secure my own safety.  Take it, and take the estates, in Captain Sheppard’s name.  Promise me one thing before I leave you.”

“What is it?” asked Thames.

“If the Captain is taken to Tyburn, be near the place of execution—­at the end of the Edgeware Road.”

“I will.”

“In case of need you will lend a helping hand?”

“Yes—­yes.”

“Swear it!”

“I do.”

“Enough!” rejoined Blueskin.  And he departed, just as Wood, who had become alarmed by Thames’s long absence, made his appearance with a blunderbuss in his hand.

Hastily acquainting him with the treasures he had unexpectedly obtained, Thames returned to the room to apprize Winifred of his good fortune.  The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild’s.  As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp.

Winifred instantly picked it up.

“You are no longer Thames Darrell,” she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; “but the Marquis de Chatillon.”

“My father was of the blood-royal of France,” exclaimed Thames.

“Eh-day! what’s this?” cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles.  “Who—­who is the Marquis de Chatillon?”

“Your adopted son, Thames Darrell,” answered Winifred.

“And the Marchioness is your daughter,” added Thames.

“O, Lord!” ejaculated Wood.  “My head fairly turns round.  So many distresses—­so many joys coming at the same time are too much for me.  Read that letter, Thames—­my lord marquis, I mean.  Read it, and you’ll find that your unfortunate uncle, Sir Rowland, surrenders to you all the estates in Lancashire.  You’ve nothing to do but to take possession.”

“What a strange history is mine!” said Thames.  “Kidnapped, and sent to France by one uncle, it was my lot to fall into the hands of another,—­my father’s own brother, the Marshal Gaucher de Chatillon; to whom, and to the Cardinal Dubois, I owed all my good fortune.”