“Yes, I know, Jim,” she replied, seeing it was best to humour him, “and, of course, I would not tell for all the world. But, look here, Jim, couldn’t you manage to get the little chap back again? You cannot really want a little fellow like that. Why, what can he do for you?” “We want him as a draw,” said Scrivener. “You let him alone; you won’t see him for the present.” “Oh, Jim, I feel as if I’d go mad when I think of him. I don’t mind a bit about the jewels nor the silver, nor, for that matter, about Mr. Rowton, but I do care for that nice little fellow. Oh, there’s no knowing what harm he will come to—and it is my doing. I shall feel that it’s my doing to my dying day.” “The kid will come to no harm, silly girl.” “But where is he, Jim? You might tell me, seeing that you love me so much.” Scrivener laughed. “Not I,” he answered. “I do love you, and you’re an uncommon pretty girl, and I’ll make you a real affectionate sort of husband. You’ll be loving to me, and I’ll be loving to you, and we’ll be like a pair of turtle doves together. There, now you are looking at me in your old pretty way. Upon my word, I am all impatient for the ceremony to take place. You are not to know where the little chap is, Hester, but there, I’ll say something to comfort you. He is snug enough and will come to no harm. Long John has got him, and Long John ain’t to be gainsaid, not by any silly girl that ever breathed, so you stop whining in that way, and let us go to the real business which has brought me here.” “Yes,” she said, controlling herself with a mighty effort. Suddenly she raised her eyes, which were full of tears. “I see you won’t tell, and I must be content,” she said. “Will you swear faithful, then, Jim, that if I do go on bearing this awful weight on my conscience, no real harm will happen to the child?” “Yes, I can swear that right enough. At the very worst, the little fighting-cock will only enter on a short and a merry life. Why, Hetty,” continued the man, “think of what it all means—lots of money, lots of excitement, hairbreadth escapes, adventures no end.” “Prison afterwards, penal servitude, and worse perhaps,” she muttered under her breath. “True enough,” replied the man. “I ain’t one to shut my eyes to the danger; we most of us go that way in the long run; we make up our minds to that from the first. Why, it is part of the excitement. The fear, for I suppose it is a sort of fear, makes the pleasure of the present all the greater. Oh, girl, it is a mad, merry life, and I would not change it for twenty of the humdrum existences of the city clerk and the other poor, half-starved beggars I see around me. Now then, my pretty one, when shall the marriage bells chime?” “Not yet,” she answered; “I don’t want to be your wife yet awhile.” “Yes, but I want you to. You know too much, Hester Winsome; you must join us out and out now, or take the consequences.” “What do you mean?” she asked, turning pale.