“That likeness is the chief cause of my misery,” replied the widow, shuddering.  “Were it not for that, he would indeed be a blessing and a comfort to me.  He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now.  But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—­when I think of that father’s shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—­at such times, Mr. Wood, despair will come over me; and, dear as this babe is to me, far dearer than my own wretched life, which I would lay down for him any minute, I have prayed to Heaven to remove him, rather than he should grow up to be a man, and be exposed to his father’s temptations—­rather than he should live as wickedly and die as disgracefully as his father.  And, when I have seen him pining away before my eyes, getting thinner and thinner every day, I have sometimes thought my prayers were heard.”

“Marriage and hanging go by destiny,” observed Wood, after a pause; “but I trust your child is reserved for a better fate than either, Mrs. Sheppard.”

The latter part of this speech was delivered with so much significance of manner, that a bystander might have inferred that Mr. Wood was not particularly fortunate in his own matrimonial connections.

“Goodness only knows what he’s reserved for,” rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; “but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed.”

“Save us!” exclaimed Wood.  “And who is this Van Gal—­Gal—­what’s his outlandish name?”

“Van Galgebrok,” replied the widow.  “He’s the famous Dutch conjuror who foretold King William’s accident and death, last February but one, a month before either event happened, and gave out that another prince over the water would soon enjoy his own again; for which he was committed to Newgate, and whipped at the cart’s tail.  He went by another name then,—­Rykhart Scherprechter I think he called himself.  His fellow-prisoners nicknamed him the gallows-provider, from a habit he had of picking out all those who were destined to the gibbet.  He was never known to err, and was as much dreaded as the jail-fever in consequence.  He singled out my poor husband from a crowd of other felons; and you know how right he was in that case, Sir.”

“Ay, marry,” replied Wood, with a look that seemed to say that he did not think it required any surprising skill in the art of divination to predict the doom of the individual in question; but whatever opinion he might entertain, he contented himself with inquiring into the grounds of the conjuror’s evil augury respecting the infant.  “What did the old fellow judge from, eh, Joan?” asked he.