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Updated: June 26, 2025
Happen what might, he could not be in a worse position. "We have had a sad loss, my dear Winifred," he began, "for I must use the privilege of an old friend, and address you by that familiar name, we have had a sad loss in the death of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere." Winifred's eyes filled with tears. This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired.
Mr. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year.
"Captain Darren," he added, sternly, "you shall hear from me." "When you please, Sir," said Thames, coldly. And the woollen-draper departed. "What is all this, dear Winny?" inquired Thames, as soon as they were alone. "Nothing nothing," she answered, bursting into tears. "Don't ask me about it now."
"And now, Sir," he said, preparing to take his departure, "will you add to the obligation already conferred by informing me where I can meet with Mr. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. "He lives at Dollis Hill, a beautiful spot near Willesden, about four or five miles from town, where he has taken a farm.
Kneebone, whose interest was not inconsiderable with the leaders of his faction, obtained an appointment as captain in a regiment of infantry, on the conditions above specified. With a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business.
"Jack's mother?" exclaimed the young man. "Gracious Heaven! is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. Alas! that the punishment of his offences should fall on her head.
The woollen-draper replied by gallantly handing her the box, which was instantly snatched from her by Blueskin, who, after helping himself to as much of its contents as he could conveniently squeeze between his thumb and finger, put it very coolly in his pocket. The action did not pass unnoticed by Sheppard. "Restore it," he cried, in an authoritative voice. "O'ons!
With her foodle doo! "I've a toast to propose," cried Sheppard, filling a bumper. "You won't refuse it, Mr. Kneebone?" "He'd better not," muttered Blueskin. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. "The speedy union of Thames Darrell with Winifred Wood," replied Jack.
Kneebone, I came hither as your guest. You have betrayed me." "What faith is to be kept with a felon?" replied the woollen-draper, disdainfully. "He who breaks faith with his benefactor may well justify himself thus," answered Jack. "I have not trusted you. Others who have done, have found you false." "I don't understand you," replied Kneebone, in some confusion.
Of this boy she had only caught a glimpse; but that glimpse was sufficient to satisfy her it was her son, and, if she could have questioned her own instinctive love, she could not question her antipathy, when she beheld, partly concealed by a pillar immediately in the rear of the woollen-draper, the dark figure and truculent features of Jonathan Wild.
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