“Not at fisticuffs, perhaps,” interrupted Jack, fiercely; “but I’ve my knife.”

“You daren’t use it.”

“Try to leave the room, and see whether I daren’t,” returned Jack, opening the blade.

“I didn’t expect this from you,” rejoined Thames, resolutely.  “But your threats won’t prevent my leaving the room when I please, and as I please.  Now, will you stand aside?”

“I won’t,” answered Jack, obstinately.

Thames said not another word, but marched boldly towards him, and seized him by the collar.

“Leave go!” cried Jack, struggling violently, and raising his hand, “or I’ll maul you for life.”

But Thames was not to be deterred from his purpose; and the strife might have terminated seriously, if a peace-maker had not appeared in the shape of little Winifred, who, alarmed by the noise, rushed suddenly into the room.

“Ah!” she screamed, seeing the uplifted weapon in Sheppard’s hand, “don’t hurt Thames—­don’t, dear Jack!  If you want to kill somebody, kill me, not him.”

And she flung herself between them.

Jack dropped the knife, and walked sullenly aside.

“What has caused this quarrel, Thames?” asked the little girl, anxiously.

“You,” answered Jack, abruptly.

“No such thing,” rejoined Thames.  “I’ll tell you all about it presently.  But you must leave us now, dear Winny, Jack and I have something to settle between ourselves.  Don’t be afraid.  Our quarrel’s quite over.”

“Are you sure of that?” returned Winifred, looking uneasily at Jack.

“Ay, ay,” rejoined Sheppard; “he may do what he pleases,—­hang me, if he thinks proper,—­if you wish it.”

With this assurance, and at the reiterated request of Thames, the little girl reluctantly withdrew.

“Come, come, Jack,” said Thames, walking up to Sheppard, and taking his hand, “have done with this.  I tell you once more, I’ll say and do nothing to get you into trouble.  Best assured of that.  But I’m resolved to see Lady Trafford.  Perhaps, she may tell me whose picture this is.”

“So she may,” returned Jack, brightening up; “it’s a good idea.  I’ll go with you.  But you must see her alone; and that’ll be no easy matter to manage, for she’s a great invalid, and has generally somebody with her.  Above all, beware of Sir Rowland Trenchard.  He’s as savage and suspicious as the devil himself.  I should never have noticed the miniature at all, if it hadn’t been for him.  He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—­who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—­while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him.  His back was no sooner turned, than she slipped this casket into the box.  The next minute, I contrived, without either of ’em perceiving me, to convey it into my own pocket.  I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don’t know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother.”