“You are a paragon of prudence and discretion,” rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. “Disparity of rank is ever productive of unhappiness in the married state. When Captain Darrell’s birth is ascertained, I’ve no doubt he’ll turn out a nobleman’s son. At least, I hope so for his sake as well as my own,” he added, mentally. “He has quite the air of one. And now, my angel, that I am acquainted with your sentiments on this subject, I shall readily fulfil a promise which I made to your lamented parent, whose loss I shall ever deplore.”
“A promise to my mother?” said Winifred, unsuspiciously.
“Yes, my angel, to her— rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it.”
“Oh! name it.”
“You are a party concerned. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere. Promise me.”
“If in my power — certainly. But, what is it! What did you promise?”
“To offer you my heart, my hand, my life,” replied Kneebone, falling at her feet.
“Sir!” exclaimed Winifred, rising.
“Inequality of rank can be no bar to our union,” continued Kneebone. “Heaven be praised, I am not the son of a nobleman.”
In spite of her displeasure, Winifred could not help smiling at the absurdity of this address. Taking this for encouragement, her suitor proceeded still more extravagantly. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses.
“Adorable girl!” he cried, in the most impassioned tone, and with the most impassioned look he could command. “Adorable girl, I have long loved you to desperation. Your lamented mother, whose loss I shall ever deplore, perceived my passion and encouraged it. Would she were alive to back my suit!”
“This is beyond all endurance,” said Winifred, striving to withdraw her hand. “Leave me, Sir; I insist.”
“Never!” rejoined Kneebone, with increased ardour — “never, till I receive from your own lips the answer which is to make me the happiest or the most miserable of mankind. Hear me, adorable girl! You know not the extent of my devotion. No mercenary consideration influences me. Love — admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me. Let your father — if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. I care not. Possessed of you, I shall have a treasure such as kings could not boast.”
“Pray cease this nonsense,” said Winifred, “and quit the room, or I will call for assistance.”
At this juncture, the door opened, and Thames entered the room. As the woollen-draper’s back was towards him, he did not perceive him, but continued his passionate addresses.
“Call as you please, beloved girl,” he cried, “I will not stir till I am answered. You say that you only love Captain Darrell as a brother —”
“Mr. Kneebone!”
“That you would not accept him were he to offer —”
“Be silent, Sir.”
“He then,” continued the woollen-draper, “is no longer considered —”
“How, Sir?” cried Thames, advancing, “what is the meaning of your reference to my name? Have you dared to insult this lady? If so —”
“Insult her!” replied Kneebone, rising, and endeavouring to hide his embarrassment under a look of defiance. “Far from, it, Sir. I have made her an honourable proposal of marriage, in compliance with the request of her lamented parent, whose memory —”
“Dare to utter that falsehood in my hearing again, scoundrel,” interrupted Thames fiercely, “and I will put it out of your power to repeat the offence. Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril.”
“I shall do neither, Sir,” replied Kneebone, “unless I am requested by this lady to withdraw — in which case I shall comply with her request. And you have to thank her presence, hot-headed boy, that I do not chastise your insolence as it deserves.”
“Go, Mr. Kneebone — pray go!” implored Winifred. “Thames, I entreat —”
“Your wishes are my laws, beloved, girl,” replied Kneebone, bowing profoundly. “Captain Darren,” he added, sternly, “you shall hear from me.”
“When you please, Sir,” said Thames, coldly.
And the woollen-draper departed.
“What is all this, dear Winny?” inquired Thames, as soon as they were alone.
“Nothing — nothing,” she answered, bursting into tears. “Don’t ask me about it now.”
“Winny,” said Thames, tenderly, “something which that self-sufficient fool has said has so far done me a service in enabling me to speak upon a subject which I have long had upon my lips, but have not had courage to utter.”
“Thames!”
“You seem to doubt my love,” he continued — “you seem to think that change of circumstances may produce some change in my affections. Hear me then, now, before I take one step to establish my origin, or secure my rights. Whatever those rights may be, whoever I am, my heart is yours. Do you accept it?”
“Dear Thames!”
“Forgive this ill-timed avowal of my love. But, answer me. Am I mistaken? Is your heart mine?”
“It is — it is; and has ever been,” replied Winifred, falling upon his neck.
Lovers’ confidences should be respected. We close the chapter.
CHAPTER 7.
JACK SHEPPARD WARNS THAMES DARRELL.
On the following night — namely Monday — the family assembled together, for the first time since the fatal event, in the chamber to which Thames had been introduced on his arrival at Dollis Hill. As this had been Mrs. Wood’s favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. Determined, however, to conquer the feeling as soon as possible, Wood had given orders to have the evening meal served there; but, notwithstanding all his good resolutions upon his first entrance, he had much ado to maintain his self-command. His wife’s portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. The very blank, however, affected him more deeply than if it had been left. Then a handkerchief was thrown over the cage, to prevent the bird from singing; it was her favourite canary. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping —she had gathered them. All these circumstances — slight in themselves, but powerful in their effect — touched the heart of the widowed carpenter, and added to his depression.
Supper was over. It had been discussed in silence. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible — for it was getting dusk — put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers — for such they may now be fairly termed — to their own conversation. Having already expressed our determination not to betray any confidences of this sort, which, however interesting to the parties concerned, could not possibly be so to others, we shall omit also the “love passages,” and proceeding to such topics as may have general interest, take up the discourse at the point when Thames Darrell expressed his determination of starting for Manchester, as soon as Jack Sheppard’s examination had taken place.
“I