But her cries were unheeded. And Blueskin, who, for a moment, had looked round distrustfully, concluding it was a feint, now laughed louder than ever. “It won't do, widow,” said he, drawing near her, while she shrank from his approach, “so you may spare your breath. Come, come, be reasonable, and listen to me. Your kid has already brought me good luck, and may bring me still more if his edication's attended to. This purse,” he added, chinking it in the air, “and this ring, were given me for him just now by the lady, who made a false step on leaving your house. If I'd been in the way, instead of Jonathan Wild, that accident wouldn't have happened.” As he said this, a slight noise was heard without. “What's that?” ejaculated the ruffian, glancing uneasily towards the window. “Who's there?--Pshaw! it's only the wind.” “It's Jonathan Wild,” returned the widow, endeavouring to alarm him. “I told you I was not unprotected.” “_He_ protect _you_,” retorted Blueskin, maliciously; “you haven't a worse enemy on the face of the earth than Jonathan Wild. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,--and with reason too, as I can testify.” “Man!” screamed Mrs. Sheppard, with a vehemence that shook even the hardened wretch beside her, “begone, and tempt me not.” “What should I tempt you to?” asked Blueskin, in surprise. “To--to--no matter what,” returned the widow distractedly. “Go--go!” “I see what you mean,” rejoined Blueskin, tossing a large case-knife, which he took from his pocket, in the air, and catching it dexterously by the haft as it fell; “you owe Jonathan a grudge;--so do I. He hanged your first husband. Just speak the word,” he added, drawing the knife significantly across his throat, “and I'll put it out of his power to do the same by your second. But d--n him! let's talk o' something more agreeable. Look at this ring;--it's a diamond, and worth a mint o' money. It shall be your wedding ring. Look at it, I say. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. A-L-I-V-A--Aliva--T-R-E-N--Trencher that's it. Aliva Trencher.” “Aliva Trenchard!” exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, hastily; “is that the name?” “Ay, ay, now I look again it _is_ Trenchard. How came you to know it? Have you heard the name before?” “I think I have--long, long ago, when I was a child,” replied Mrs. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; “but my memory is gone--quite gone. Where _can_ I have heard it!” “Devil knows,” rejoined Blueskin. “Let it pass. The ring's yours, and you're mine. Here, put it on your finger.” Mrs. Sheppard snatched back her hand from his grasp, and exerted all her force to repel his advances. “Set down the kid,” roared Blueskin, savagely. “Mercy!” screamed Mrs. Sheppard, struggling to escape, and holding the infant at arm's length; “have mercy on this helpless innocent!” And the child, alarmed by the strife, added its feeble cries to its mother's shrieks.