“It’s Jonathan Wild,” returned the widow, endeavouring to alarm him.  “I told you I was not unprotected.”

“He protect you,” retorted Blueskin, maliciously; “you haven’t a worse enemy on the face of the earth than Jonathan Wild.  If you’d read your husband’s dying speech, you’d know that he laid his death at Jonathan’s door,—­and with reason too, as I can testify.”

“Man!” screamed Mrs. Sheppard, with a vehemence that shook even the hardened wretch beside her, “begone, and tempt me not.”

“What should I tempt you to?” asked Blueskin, in surprise.

“To—­to—­no matter what,” returned the widow distractedly.  “Go—­go!”

“I see what you mean,” rejoined Blueskin, tossing a large case-knife, which he took from his pocket, in the air, and catching it dexterously by the haft as it fell; “you owe Jonathan a grudge;—­so do I. He hanged your first husband.  Just speak the word,” he added, drawing the knife significantly across his throat, “and I’ll put it out of his power to do the same by your second.  But d—­n him! let’s talk o’ something more agreeable.  Look at this ring;—­it’s a diamond, and worth a mint o’ money.  It shall be your wedding ring.  Look at it, I say.  The lady’s name’s engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it.  A-L-I-V-A—­Aliva—­T-R-E-N—­Trencher that’s it.  Aliva Trencher.”

“Aliva Trenchard!” exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, hastily; “is that the name?”

“Ay, ay, now I look again it is Trenchard.  How came you to know it?  Have you heard the name before?”

“I think I have—­long, long ago, when I was a child,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; “but my memory is gone—­quite gone.  Where can I have heard it!”

“Devil knows,” rejoined Blueskin.  “Let it pass.  The ring’s yours, and you’re mine.  Here, put it on your finger.”

Mrs. Sheppard snatched back her hand from his grasp, and exerted all her force to repel his advances.

“Set down the kid,” roared Blueskin, savagely.

“Mercy!” screamed Mrs. Sheppard, struggling to escape, and holding the infant at arm’s length; “have mercy on this helpless innocent!”

And the child, alarmed by the strife, added its feeble cries to its mother’s shrieks.

“Set it down, I tell you,” thundered Blueskin, “or I shall do it a mischief.”

“Never!” cried Mrs. Sheppard.

Uttering a terrible imprecation, Blueskin placed the knife between his teeth, and endeavoured to seize the poor woman by the throat.  In the struggle her cap fell off.  The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast.  The chamber rang with her shrieks.  But her cries, instead of moving her assailant’s compassion, only added to his fury.  Planting his knee against her side, he pulled her towards him with one hand, while with the other he sought his knife.  The child was now within reach; and, in another moment, he would have executed his deadly purpose, if an arm from behind had not felled him to the ground.