“Oh! of course,” rejoined Mrs. Wood; “I can't for an instant question such distinterested testimony. Mrs. Sheppard, I'm sure, will say as much for you. He's a model of conjugal attachment and fidelity, a pattern to his family, and an example to his neighbours. Ain't he, Madam?'” “He is, indeed,” replied the widow, fervently; “more--much more than that.” “He's no such thing!” cried Mrs. Wood, furiously. “He's a base, deceitful, tyrannical, hoary-headed libertine--that's what he is. But, I'll expose him. I'll proclaim his misdoings to the world; and, then, we shall see where he'll stand. Marry, come up! I'll show him what an injured wife can do. If all wives were of my mind and my spirit, husbands would soon be taught their own insignificance. But a time _will_ come (and that before long,) when our sex will assert its superiority; and, when we have got the upper hand, let 'em try to subdue us if they can. But don't suppose, Madam, that anything I say has reference to you. I'm speaking of virtuous women--of WIVES, Madam. Mistresses neither deserve consideration nor commiseration.” “I expect no commiseration,” returned Mrs. Sheppard, gently, “nor do I need any. But, rather than be the cause of any further misunderstanding between you and my benefactor, I will leave London and its neighbourhood for ever.” “Pray do so, Madam,” retorted Mrs. Wood, “and take your son with you.” “My son!” echoed the widow, trembling. “Yes, your son, Madam. If you can do any good with him, it's more than we can. The house will be well rid of him, for a more idle, good-for-nothing reprobate never crossed its threshold.” “Is this true, Sir?” cried Mrs. Sheppard, with an agonized look at Wood. “I know you'll not deceive me. Is Jack what Mrs. Wood represents him?” “He's not exactly what I could desire him to be, Joan,” replied the carpenter, reluctantly, “But a ragged colt sometimes makes the best horse. He'll mend, I hope.” “Never,” said Mrs. Wood,--“he'll never mend. He has taken more than one step towards the gallows already. Thieves and pickpockets are his constant companions.” “Thieves!” exclaimed Mrs. Sheppard, horror-stricken. “Jonathan Wild and Blueskin have got him into their hands,” continued Mrs. Wood. “Impossible!” exclaimed the widow, wildly. “If you doubt my word, woman,” replied the carpenter's wife, coldly, “ask Mr. Wood.” “I know you'll contradict it, Sir,” said the widow, looking at Wood as if she dreaded to have her fears confirmed,--“I know you will.” “I wish I could, Joan,” returned the carpenter, sadly. Mrs. Sheppard let fall her basket. “My son,” she murmured, wringing her hands piteously--, “my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be.” “Why not?” rejoined Mrs. Wood, in a taunting tone. “Your son's father was a thief; and Jonathan Wild (unless I'm misinformed,) was his friend,--so it's not unnatural he should show some partiality towards Jack.”