r that I,
Japhet Newland, who but two nights before was pressing the down of
luxury in the same habitation as Lady de Clare and her lovely child,
was now on a mattress in the cell of a prison, under a charge which
threatened me with an ignominious death. I rose, and sat on the bed,
for I had not thrown off my clothes. My first thoughts were directed
to Timothy. Should I write to him? No, no! why should I make him
miserable?

If I was to suffer, it should be under an assumed name. But what name?
Here I was interrupted by the gaoler, who opened the door, and desired
me to roll up my mattress and bed-clothes, that they might, as was the
custom, be taken out of the cell during the day.

My first inquiry was, if the man who had been so much hurt was in the
gaol.

"You mean your 'complice," replied the gaoler. "Yes, he is here, and
has recovered his senses. The doctor says he will do very well."

"Has he made any confession?" inquired I.

The gaoler made no reply.

"I ask that question," continued I, "because if he acknowledges who was
his accomplice, I shall be set at liberty."

"Very likely," replied the man, sarcastically; "the fact is, there is
no occasion for king's evidence in this case, or you might get off by
crossing the water; so you must trust to your luck. The grand jury
meet to-day, and I will let you know whether a true bill is found
against you or not."

"What is the name of the other man?" inquired I.

"Well, you are a good un to put a face upon a matter, I will say. You
would almost persuade me, with that innocent look of yours, that you
know nothing about the business."

"Nor do I," replied I.

"You will be fortunate if you can prove as much, that's all."

"Still, you have not answered my question; what is the other man's name?"

"Well," replied the gaoler, laughing, "since you are determined I shall
tell you, I will. It must be news to you, with a vengeance. His name is
Bill Ogle, _alias_ Swamping Bill. I suppose you never heard that name
before?"

"I certainly never did," replied I.

"Perhaps you do not know your own name? Yet I can tell it you, for Bill
Ogle has blown upon you so far."

"Indeed," replied I; "and what name has he given to me?"

"Why, to do him justice, it wasn't until he saw a copy of the
depositions before the magistrates, and heard how you were nabbed in
trying to help him off, that he did tell it; and then he said, 'Well,
Phil Maddox always was a true un, and I'm