“Throttle the kid!” rejoined Blueskin, fiercely.  “If you don’t stop its squalling, I will.  I hate children.  And, if I’d my own way, I’d drown ‘em all like a litter o’ puppies.”

Well knowing the savage temper of the person she had to deal with, and how likely he was to put his threat into execution, Mrs. Sheppard did not dare to return any answer; but, disengaging herself from his embrace, endeavoured meekly to comply with his request.

“And now, widow,” continued the ruffian, setting down the candle, and applying his lips to the bottle neck as he flung his heavy frame upon a bench, “I’ve a piece o’ good news for you.”

“Good news will be news to me.  What is it?”

“Guess,” rejoined Blueskin, attempting to throw a gallant expression into his forbidding countenance.

Mrs. Sheppard trembled violently; and though she understood his meaning too well, she answered,—­“I can’t guess.”

“Well, then,” returned the ruffian, “to put you out o’ suspense, as the topsman remarked to poor Tom Sheppard, afore he turned him off, I’m come to make you an honourable proposal o’ marriage.  You won’t refuse me, I’m sure; so no more need be said about the matter.  To-morrow, we’ll go to the Fleet and get spliced.  Don’t shake so.  What I said about your brat was all stuff.  I didn’t mean it.  It’s my way when I’m ruffled.  I shall take to him as nat’ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore long.—­I’ll give him the edication of a prig,—­teach him the use of his forks betimes,—­and make him, in the end, as clever a cracksman as his father.”

“Never!” shrieked Mrs. Sheppard; “never! never!”

“Halloa! what’s this?” demanded Blueskin, springing to his feet.  “Do you mean to say that if I support your kid, I shan’t bring him up how I please—­eh?”

“Don’t question me, but leave me,” replied the widow wildly; “you had better.”

“Leave you!” echoed the ruffian, with a contemptuous laugh; “—­not just yet.”

“I am not unprotected,” rejoined the poor woman; “there’s some one at the window.  Help! help!”

But her cries were unheeded.  And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever.

“It won’t do, widow,” said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, “so you may spare your breath.  Come, come, be reasonable, and listen to me.  Your kid has already brought me good luck, and may bring me still more if his edication’s attended to.  This purse,” he added, chinking it in the air, “and this ring, were given me for him just now by the lady, who made a false step on leaving your house.  If I’d been in the way, instead of Jonathan Wild, that accident wouldn’t have happened.”

As he said this, a slight noise was heard without.

“What’s that?” ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window.  “Who’s there?—­Pshaw! it’s only the wind.”