renchard. "His
life--or yours?"

"No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. "Your uncle
_must_ protect you. It will be his interest to do so. He will be
dependent on you."

"Do what you please with him," muttered Trenchard to Wild.

"Take off these chains, Rowland," said Lady Trafford, "instantly, I
command you."

"_I_ will," replied Jonathan, advancing, and rudely seizing Thames.

"Mother!" cried the son, "help!"

"What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch,
and extending her hands towards him. "Oh, God! would you take him from
me?--would you murder him?"

"His father's name?--and he is free," rejoined Rowland, holding her
arms.

"Release him first--and I will disclose it!" cried Lady Trafford; "on my
soul, I will!"

"Speak then!" returned Rowland.

"Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,--"too
late!--oh!"

Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her
son's mouth, and forced him out of the room.

When he returned, a moment or so afterwards, he found Sir Rowland
standing by the lifeless body of his sister. His countenance was almost
as white and rigid as that of the corpse by his side.

"This is your work," said the knight, sternly.

"Not entirely," replied Jonathan, calmly; "though I shouldn't be ashamed
of it if it were. After all, you failed in obtaining the secret from
her, Sir Rowland. Women are hypocrites to the last--true only to
themselves."

"Peace!" cried the knight, fiercely.

"No offence," returned Jonathan. "I was merely about to observe that _I_
am in possession of her secret."

"You!"

"Didn't I tell you that the fugitive Darrell gave me a glove! But we'll
speak of this hereafter. You can _purchase_ the information from me
whenever you're so disposed. I shan't drive a hard bargain. To the point
however. I came back to say, that I've placed your nephew in a coach;
and, if you'll be at my lock in the Old Bailey an hour after midnight,
you shall hear the last tidings of him."

"I will be there," answered Trenchard, gloomily.

"You'll not forget the thousand, Sir Rowland--short accounts, you know."

"Fear nothing. You shall have your reward."

"Thank'ee,--thank'ee. My house is the next door to the Cooper's Arms, in
the Old Bailey, opposite Newgate. You'll find me at supper."

So saying, he bowed and departed.

"That man should have been an Italian bravo," murmured the knight,
sinking into a