“Poor Jack!” exclaimed Thames. “I would sacrifice all my fortune — all my hopes — to liberate him.”
“If you’re in earnest,” rejoined Blueskin, “give me that bag of gold. It contains a thousand pounds; and, if all other schemes fail, I’ll engage to free him on the way to Tyburn.”
“May I trust you?” hesitated Thames.
“Why did I not keep the money when I had it?” returned Blueskin, angrily. “Not a farthing of it shall be expended except in the Captain’s service.”
“Take it,” replied Thames.
“You have saved his life,” replied Blueskin. “And now, mark me. You owe what I have done for you, to him, not to me. Had I not known that you and your affianced bride are dearer to him than life I should have used this money to secure my own safety. Take it, and take the estates, in Captain Sheppard’s name. Promise me one thing before I leave you.”
“What is it?” asked Thames.
“If the Captain is taken to Tyburn, be near the place of execution — at the end of the Edgeware Road.”
“I will.”
“In case of need you will lend a helping hand?”
“Yes — yes.”
“Swear it!”
“I do.”
“Enough!” rejoined Blueskin. And he departed, just as Wood, who had become alarmed by Thames’s long absence, made his appearance with a blunderbuss in his hand.
Hastily acquainting him with the treasures he had unexpectedly obtained, Thames returned to the room to apprize Winifred of his good fortune. The packets were hastily broken open; and, while Wood was absorbed in the perusal of the despatch addressed to him by Sir Rowland, Thames sought out, and found the letter which he had been prevented from finishing on the fatal night at Jonathan Wild’s. As soon as he had read it, he let it fall from his grasp.
Winifred instantly picked it up.
“You are no longer Thames Darrell,” she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; “but the Marquis de Chatillon.”
“My father was of the blood-royal of France,” exclaimed Thames.
“Eh-day! what’s this?” cried Wood, looking up from beneath his spectacles. “Who — who is the Marquis de Chatillon?”
“Your adopted son, Thames Darrell,” answered Winifred.
“And the Marchioness is your daughter,” added Thames.
“O, Lord!” ejaculated Wood. “My head fairly turns round. So many distresses — so many joys coming at the same time are too much for me. Read that letter, Thames — my lord marquis, I mean. Read it, and you’ll find that your unfortunate uncle, Sir Rowland, surrenders to you all the estates in Lancashire. You’ve nothing to do but to take possession.”
“What a strange history is mine!” said Thames. “Kidnapped, and sent to France by one uncle, it was my lot to fall into the hands of another — my father’s own brother, the Marshal Gaucher de Chatillon; to whom, and to the Cardinal Dubois, I owed all my good fortune.”
“The ways of Providence are inscrutable,” observed Wood.
“When in France, I heard from the Marshal that his brother had perished in London on the night of the Great Storm. It was supposed he was drowned in crossing the river, as his body had never been found. Little did I imagine at the time that it was my own father to whom he referred.”
“I think I remember reading something about your father in the papers,” observed Wood. “Wasn’t he in some way connected with the Jacobite plots?”
“He was,” replied Thames. “He had been many years in this country before his assassination took place. In this letter, which is addressed to my ill-fated mother, he speaks of his friendship for Sir Rowland, whom it seems he had known abroad; but entreats her to keep the marriage secret for a time, for reasons which are not fully developed.”
“And so Sir Rowland murdered his friend,” remarked Wood. “Crime upon crime.”
“Unconsciously, perhaps,” replied Thames. “But be it as it may, he is now beyond the reach of earthly punishment.”
“But Wild still lives,” cried Wood.
“He; also, has paid the penalty of his offences,” returned Thames. “He has fallen by the hand of Blueskin, who brought me these packets.”
“Thank God for that!” cried Wood, heartily. “I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife — No, not quite that,” he added, a little confused.
“And now,” said Thames, (for we must still preserve the name,) “you will no longer defer my happiness.”
“Hold!” interposed Winifred, gravely. “I release you from your promise. A carpenter’s daughter is no fit match for a peer of France.”
“If my dignity must be purchased by the loss of you, I renounce it,” cried Thames. “You will not make it valueless in my eyes,” he added, catching her in his arms, and pressing her to his breast.
“Be it as you please,” replied Winifred. “My lips would belie my heart were I to refuse you.”
“And now, father, your blessing — your consent!” cried Thames.
“You have both,” replied Wood, fervently. “I am too much honoured — too happy in the union. Oh! that I should live to be father-in-law to a peer of France! What would my poor wife say to it, if she could come to life again? Oh, Thames! — my lord marquis, I mean — you have made me the happiest — the proudest of mankind.”
Not many days after this event, on a bright October morning, the bells rang a merry peal from the old gray tower of Willesden church. All the village was assembled in the churchyard. Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes — a wedding — was about to take place.
At the gate opening upon the road leading to Dollis Hill were stationed William Morgan and John Dump. Presently, two carriages dashed down the hill, and drew up before it. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. From the second descended Mr. Wood — and after him came his daughter.
The sun never shone upon a lovelier couple than now approached the altar. The church was crowded to excess by the numbers eager to witness the ceremony; and as soon as it was over the wedded pair were followed to the carriage, and the loudest benedictions uttered for their happiness.
In spite of the tumultuous joy which agitated him, the bridegroom could not prevent the intrusion of some saddening thoughts, as he reflected upon the melancholy scene which he had so recently witnessed in the same place.
The youthful couple had been seated in the carriage a few minutes when they were joined by Mr. Wood, who had merely absented himself to see that a public breakfast, which he had ordered at the Six Bells for all who chose to partake of it, was in readiness. He likewise gave directions that in the after part of the day a whole bullock should be roasted on the green and distributed, together with a barrel of the strongest ale.
In the evening, a band of village musicians, accompanied by most of the young inhabitants of Willesden, strolled out to Dollis Hill, where they formed a rustic concert under