iscreant seized Jack by the waist, and Thames by the nape
of the neck, and marched off, like the ogre in the fairy tale, with a
boy under each arm, while Charcam brought upt the rear.

CHAPTER X.

Mother and Son.

They had scarcely been gone a moment, when a confused noise was heard
without, and Charcam re-entered the room, with a countenance of the
utmost bewilderment and alarm.

"What's the matter with the man?" demanded Wild.

"Her ladyship--" faltered the attendant.

"What of her?" cried the knight. "Is she returned!"

"Y--e--s, Sir Rowland," stammered Charcam.

"The devil!" ejaculated Jonathan. "Here's a cross-bite."

"But that's not all, your honour," continued Charcam; "Mrs. Norris says
she's dying."

"Dying!" echoed the knight.

"Dying, Sir Rowland. She was taken dreadfully ill on the road, with
spasms and short breath, and swoonings,--worse than ever she was before.
And Mrs. Norris was so frightened that she ordered the postboys to drive
back as fast as they could. She never expected to get her ladyship home
alive."

"My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed
her."

"No doubt," rejoined Wild, with a sneer; "but don't let all the world
know it."

"They're lifting her out of the carriage," interposed Charcam; "will it
please your honour to send for some advice and the chaplain?"

"Fly for both," returned Sir Rowland, in a tone of bitter anguish.

"Stay!" interposed Jonathan. "Where are the boys?"

"In the hall."

"Her ladyship will pass through it?"

"Of course; there's no other way."

"Then, bring them into this room, the first thing--quick! They must not
meet, Sir Rowland," he added, as Charcam hastened to obey his
instructions.

"Heaven has decreed it otherwise," replied the knight, dejectedly. "I
yield to fate."

"Yield to nothing," returned Wild, trying to re-assure him; "above all,
when your designs prosper. Man's fate is in his own hands. You are your
nephew's executioner, or he is yours. Cast off this weakness. The next
hour makes, or mars you for ever. Go to your sister, and do not quit her
till all is over. Leave the rest to me."

Sir Rowland moved irresolutely towards the door, but recoiled before a
sad spectacle. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity.
Borne in the arms of a couple of assistants, and preceded by Mrs.
Norris, wringing her hands and wepping, the unfortunate lady was placed
upon a couch. At the same time,