Lest the carpenter should be taxed with too much uxoriousness, it behoves us to ascertain whether the personal attractions of his helpmate would, in any degree, justify the devotion he displayed.  In the first place, Mrs. Wood had the advantage of her husband in point of years, being on the sunny side of forty,—­a period pronounced by competent judges to be the most fascinating, and, at the same time, most critical epoch of woman’s existence,—­whereas, he was on the shady side of fifty,—­a term of life not generally conceived to have any special recommendation in female eyes.  In the next place, she really had some pretensions to beauty.  Accounted extremely pretty in her youth, her features and person expanded as she grew older, without much detriment to their original comeliness.  Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless:  and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago.

On the present occasion, in anticipation of Mr. Kneebone’s visit, Mrs. Wood was dressed with more than ordinary care, and in more than ordinary finery.  A dove-coloured kincob gown, embroidered with large trees, and made very low in front, displayed to the greatest possible advantage, the rounded proportions of her figure; while a high-heeled, red-leather shoe did not detract from the symmetry of a very neat ankle, and a very small foot.  A stomacher, fastened by imitation-diamond buckles, girded that part of her person, which should have been a waist; a coral necklace encircled her throat, and a few black patches, or mouches, as they were termed, served as a foil to the bloom of her cheek and chin.  Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell’s accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actaeon.  From her stomacher, to which it was attached by a multitude of glittering steel chains, depended an immense turnip-shaped watch, in a pinchbeck case.  Her hair was gathered up behind, in a sort of pad, according to the then prevailing mode; and she wore a muslin cap, and pinners with crow-foot edging.  A black silk fur-belowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian.

But, in spite of her attractions, we shall address ourselves to the younger, and more interesting couple.

“I could almost find in my heart to quarrel with Jack Sheppard for occasioning you so much pain,” observed little Winifred Wood, as, having completed her ministration to the best of her ability, she helped Thames on with his coat.

“I don’t think you could find in your heart to quarrel with any one, Winny; much less with a person whom I like so much as Jack Sheppard.  My arm’s nearly well again.  And I’ve already told you the accident was not Jack’s fault.  So, let’s think no more about it.”