“This comes of fine feelings!” muttered Jonathan, contemptuously. “Give me your thorough-paced villain. But I shan't let him off thus. I'll try a strong dose.--Am I to understand that you intend to plead guilty, Sir Rowland?” he added. “If so, I may as well execute my warrant.” “Stand off, Sir!” exclaimed Trenchard, starting suddenly backwards. “I knew that would bring him to,” thought Wild. “Where is the boy?” demanded Sir Rowland. “At present under the care of his preserver--one Owen Wood, a carpenter, by whom he was brought up.” “Wood!” exclaimed Trenchard,--“of Wych Street?” “The same.” “A boy from his shop was here a short time ago. Could it be him you mean?” “No. That boy was the carpenter's apprentice, Jack Sheppard. I've just left your nephew.” At this moment Charcam entered the room. “Beg pardon, Sir Rowland,” said the attendant, “but there's a boy from Mr. Wood, with a message for Lady Trafford.” “From whom?” vociferated Trenchard. “From Mr. Wood the carpenter.” “The same who was here just now?” “No, Sir Rowland, a much finer boy.” “'Tis he, by Heaven!” cried Jonathan; “this is lucky. Sir Rowland,” he added, in a deep whisper, “do you agree to my terms?” “I do,” answered Trenchard, in the same tone. “Enough!” rejoined Wild; “he shall not return.” “Have you acquainted him with Lady Trafford's departure?” said the knight, addressing Charcam, with as much composure as he could assume. “No, Sir Rowland,” replied the attendant, “as you proposed to ride to Saint Albans to-night, I thought you might choose to see him yourself. Besides, there's something odd about the boy; for, though I questioned him pretty closely concerning his business, he declined answering my questions, and said he could only deliver his message to her ladyship. I thought it better not to send him away till I'd mentioned the circumstance to you.” “You did right,” returned Trenchard. “Where is he?” asked Jonathan. “In the hall,” replied Charcam. “Alone?” “Not exactly, Sir. There's another lad at the gate waiting for him--the same who was here just now, that Sir Rowland was speaking of, who fastened up the jewel-case for her ladyship.” “A jewel-case!” exclaimed Jonathan. “Ah, I see it all!” he cried, with a quick glance. “Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. Was anything missed after the lad's departure, Sir Rowland?” “Not that I'm aware of,” said the knight.--“Stay! something occurs to me.” And he conferred apart with Jonathan. “That's it!” cried Wild when Trenchard concluded. “This young fool is come to restore the article--whatever it may be--which Lady Trafford was anxious to conceal, and which his companion purloined. It's precisely what such a simpleton would do. We have him as safe as a linnet in a cage; and could wring his neck round as easily. Oblige me by acting under my guidance in the matter, Sir Rowland. I'm an old hand at such things. Harkee,” he added, “Mr. What's-your-name!” “Charcam,” replied the attendant, bowing.