Charcam, who seemed perfectly distracted
by the recent occurrences, dragged in Thames, leaving Jack Sheppard
outside in the custody of the dwarfish Jew.

"Hell's curses!" muttered Jonathan between his teeth; "that fool will
ruin all. Take him away," he added, striding up to Charcam.

"Let him remain," interposed Trenchard.

"As you please, Sir Rowland," returned Jonathan, with affected
indifference; "but I'm not going to hunt the deer for another to eat the
ven'son, depend on 't."

But seeing that no notice was taken of the retort, he drew a little
aside, and folded his arms, muttering, "This whim will soon be over. She
can't last long. I can pull the strings of this stiff-necked puppet as I
please."

Sir Rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister,
and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her
forgiveness in the most passionate terms. For a few minutes, she
appeared scarcely sensible of his presence. But, after some restoratives
had been administered by Mrs. Norris, she revived a little.

"Rowland," she said, in a faint voice, "I have not many minutes to live.
Where is Father Spencer? I must have absolution. I have something that
weighs heavily upon my mind."

Sir Rowland's brow darkened.

"I have sent for him," Aliva, he answered; "he will be here directly,
with your medical advisers."

"They are useless," she returned. "Medicine cannot save mo now."

"Dear sister----"

"I should die happy, if I could behold my child."

"Comfort yourself, then, Aliva. You _shall_ behold him."

"You are mocking me, Rowland. Jests are not for seasons like this."

"I am not, by Heaven," returned the knight, solemnly. "Leave us, Mrs.
Norris, and do not return till Father Spencer arrives."

"Your ladyship----" hesitated Norris.

"Go!" said Lady Trafford; "it is my last request."

And her faithful attendant, drowned in tears, withdrew, followed by the
two assistants.

Jonathan stepped behind a curtain.

"Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of
indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son.
Where is he?"

"Within this room," replied the knight.

"Here!" shrieked Lady Trafford.

"Here," repeated her brother. "But calm yourself, dear sister, or the
interview will be too much for you."

"I _am_ calm--quite calm, Rowland," she answered, with lips whose
agitation belied her words. "Then, the story of his death was false. I
knew it. I wa