As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. Why was he there? why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! She could not answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through her mind. Meanwhile, the service proceeded; and the awful command, “_Thou shalt not steal_!” was solemnly uttered by the preacher, when Mrs. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollen-draper. She could not see what occurred, though she guessed it; but she saw Jonathan's devilish triumphing glance, and read in it,--“Your son has committed a robbery--here--in these holy walls--he is mine--mine for ever!” She uttered a loud scream, and fainted. [Illustration: 007] CHAPTER XVI. JONATHAN WILD'S HOUSE IN THE OLD BAILEY. Just as St. Sepulchre's church struck one, on the eventful night of the 10th of June, (to which it will not be necessary to recur,) a horseman, mounted on a powerful charger, and followed at a respectful distance by an attendant, galloped into the open space fronting Newgate, and directed his course towards a house in the Old Bailey. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed--startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,--swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. The next moment, however, he was picked up, and set upon his feet by a person who, having witnessed the accident, flew across the road to his assistance. “You're not hurt I hope, Sir Rowland?” inquired this individual. “Not materially, Mr. Wild,” replied the other, “a little shaken, that's all. Curses light on the horse!” he added, seizing the bridle of his steed, who continued snorting and shivering, as if still under the influence of some unaccountable alarm; “what can ail him?” “_I_ know what ails him, your honour,” rejoined the groom, riding up as he spoke; “he's seen somethin' not o' this world.” “Most likely,” observed Jonathan, with a slight sneer; “the ghost of some highwayman who has just breathed his last in Newgate, no doubt.” “May be,” returned the man gravely. “Take him home, Saunders,” said Sir Rowland, resigning his faulty steed to the attendant's care, “I shall not require you further. Strange!” he added, as the groom departed; “Bay Stuart has carried me through a hundred dangers, but never played me such a trick before.” “And never should again, were he mine,” rejoined Jonathan. “If the best nag ever foaled were to throw me in this unlucky spot, I'd blow his brains out.” “What do you mean, Sir?” asked Trenchard. “A fall against Newgate is accounted a sign of death by the halter,” replied Wild, with ill-disguised malignity. “Tush!” exclaimed Sir Rowland, angrily. “From that door,” continued the thief-taker, pointing to the gloomy portal of the prison opposite which they were standing, “the condemned are taken to Tyburn. It's a bad omen to be thrown near that door.”