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Updated: September 6, 2025
"Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. "It's an odd-shaped one," rejoined Kneebone, examining it attentively. "But I can guess what it's for. Sir Rowland is one of us," he added, winking at his companions, "and so was his brother-in-law, Sir Cecil Trafford. Old Lancashire families both. Strict Catholics, and loyal to the backbone.
Heywood jumped to the ground, and in a pelting shower of clods, exulted: "He looked again, and saw it was The middle of next week!" "Come on, brother mole. Spread the news!" He ran off, laughing, in the wide hush of astonishment. "Pretty fair," Captain Kneebone said. "But that ain't the end." This grudging praise in which, moreover, Heywood tamely acquiesced was his only comment.
You ought rather to be obliged to us for allowing you to pay this visit. We could have secured you when you left the Mint. But we wished to ascertain whether Mrs. Wood's charms equalled your description." "Wretches!" screamed the lady; "don't dare to breathe your vile insinuations against me! Oh! Mr. Kneebone, are these your French noblemen?" "Don't upbraid me!" rejoined the woollen-draper.
Ever since the discovery of his relationship to the Trenchard family, a marked change had taken place in Jack's demeanour and looks, which were so much refined and improved that he could scarcely be recognised as the same person. Having only seen him in the gloom of a dungeon, and loaded with fetters, Kneebone had not noticed this alteration: but he was now greatly struck by it.
Wood, Sir," he added, with much emotion, "is one of the best of men, and would be the happiest, were it not that " and he hesitated. "Well, Sir?" cried the other, eagerly. "His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily. "I understand," replied the stranger, unable to repress a smile. "But, it strikes me, I've heard that Mrs. Wood was once a favourite of yours."
"I do," replied Kneebone. "Drink this, then," roared Blueskin. And pouring the contents of a small powder-flask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. At this juncture, the door was opened by Rachel. "What did you ring for, Sir?" she asked, eyeing the group with astonishment. "Your master wants a few table-spoons, child," said Mrs. Maggot.
Then, with a sudden drop-kick, he sent the helmet flickering high into the darkness over the wall. "Here we come!" he shouted, in hilarious warning. The squabbling retinue surged after him through the gate, and one by one the lanterns disappeared under the covered way. "It's the captain!" laughed Heywood, in amazement. "Kneebone ashore! He can't be sober!"
The funeral, it has just been said, took place on that day. Amongst others who attended the sad ceremony was Mr. Kneebone. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. Overcome by his affliction, Mr. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames.
Then the talk flowed on, the feast made a tiny clatter of jollity in the slumbering noon, in the silence of an ocean and a continent. And when at last the visitors clambered down the iron side, they went victorious with Spanish wine. "Mind ye," shouted Captain Kneebone, from the rail, "that don't half exhaust the subjeck o' lott'ries!
"A bold resolution," said the woollen-draper. "You must have made some exertion to keep your present appointment. Few men could have done as much." "Perhaps not," replied Jack, carelessly. "I would have done more, if necessary." "Well, take a chair," rejoined Kneebone. "I've waited supper, you perceive." "First, let me introduce my friends," returned Jack, stepping to the door.
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