“I am calm—­perfectly calm,” replied Winifred.  “Pray, make no further mystery; but tell me all without reserve.”

“Since you require it, I must obey,” replied Kneebone; “but prepare yourself for a terrible shock.”

“For mercy’s sake, go on!” cried Winifred.

“At all hazards then then you shall know the truth,” replied the woollen-draper, in a tone of affected solicitude,—­“but are you really prepared?”

“Quite—­quite!” replied Winifred.  “This suspense is worse than torture.”

“I am almost afraid to utter it,” said Kneebone; “but Thames Darrell is murdered.”

“Murdered!” ejaculated Winifred.

“Basely and inhumanly murdered, by Jack Sheppard and Blueskin,” continued Kneebone.

“Oh! no—­no—­no,” cried Winifred, “I cannot believe it.  You must be misinformed, Mr. Kneebone.  Jack may be capable of much that is wicked, but he would never lift his hand against his friend,—­of that I am assured.”

“Generous girl!” cried Jack from behind the skreen.

“I have proofs to the contrary,” replied Kneebone.  “The murder was committed after the robbery of my house by Sheppard and his accomplices.  I did not choose to mention my knowledge of this fact to your worthy father; but you may rely on its correctness.”

“You were right not to mention it to him,” rejoined Winifred, “for he is in such a state of distress at the mysterious disappearance of Mrs. Sheppard, that I fear any further anxiety might prove fatal to him.  And yet I know not—­for the object of his visit here to-night was to serve Jack, who, if your statement is correct, which I cannot however for a moment believe, does not deserve his assistance.”

“You may rest assured he does not,” rejoined Kneebone, emphatically, “but I am at a loss to understand in what way your father proposes to assist him.”

“Mr. Bird, the turner, who is an old friend of our’s, has some acquaintance with the turnkeys of Newgate,” replied Winifred, “and by his means my father hoped to convey some implements to Jack, by which he might effect another escape.”

“I see,” remarked Kneebone.  “This must be prevented,” he added to himself.

“Heaven grant you may have been wrongly informed with respect to Thames!” exclaimed Winifred; “but, I beseech you, on no account to mention what you have told me to my poor father.  He is not in a state of mind to bear it.”

“Rely on me,” rejoined Kneebone.  “One word before we part, adorable girl—­only one,” he continued, detaining her.  “I would not venture to renew my suit while Thames lived, because I well knew your affections were fixed upon him.  But now that this bar is removed, I trust I may, without impropriety, urge it.”

“No more of this,” said Winifred, angrily.  “Is this a season to speak on such a subject?”

“Perhaps not,” rejoined the woollen-draper; “but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse.  My whole life shall be devoted to you, beloved girl.  And when you reflect how much at heart your poor mother, whose loss we must ever deplore, had our union, you will, I am persuaded, no longer refuse me.”