r have it," replied Mrs. Sheppard,
passionately,--"he has my boundless gratitude, and devotion. But I am
not worthy to be any man's wife--far less _his_ wife. Winifred, you are
deceived in me. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. You know
not in what dark places my life has been cast; with what crimes it has
been stained. But the offences I _have_ committed are venial in
comparison with what I should commit were I to wed your father. No--no,
it must never be."

"You paint yourself worse than you are, dear Mrs. Sheppard," rejoined
Winifred kindly. "Your faults were the faults of circumstances."

"Palliate them as you may," replied the widow, gravely, "they _were_
faults; and as such, cannot be repaired by a greater wrong. If you love
me, do not allude to this subject again."

"I'm sorry I mentioned it at all, since it distresses you," returned
Winifred; "but, as I knew my father intended to propose to you, if poor
Jack should be respited--"

"_If_ he should be respited?" repeated Mrs. Sheppard, with startling
eagerness. "Does your father doubt it? Speak! tell me!"

Winifred made no answer.

"Your hesitation convinces me he does," replied the widow. "Is Thames
returned from London?"

"Not yet," replied the other; "but I expect him every minute. My
father's chief fear, I must tell you, is from the baneful influence of
Jonathan Wild."

"That fiend is ever in my path," exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, with a look,
the wildness of which greatly alarmed her companion. "I cannot scare him
thence."

"Hark!" cried Winifred, "Thames is arrived. I hear the sound of his
horse's feet in the yard. Now you will learn the result."

"Heaven support me!" cried Mrs. Sheppard, faintly.

"Breathe at this phial," said Winifred.

Shortly afterwards,--it seemed an age to the anxious mother,--Mr. Wood
entered the room, followed by Thames. The latter looked very pale,
either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed,
or from suppressed emotion,--partly, perhaps, from both causes,--and
wore his left arm in a sling.

"Well!" cried Mrs. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as if
her life depended upon the answer. "He is respited?"

"Alas! no," replied Thames, sadly. "The warrant for his execution is
arrived. There is no further hope."

"My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards.

"Heaven have mercy on his soul!" ejaculated Wood.

"Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lov