Jack Sheppard | Page 2

a decent look, and decidedly the air
of one well-to-do in the world. In stature, he was short and stumpy; in
person, corpulent; and in countenance, sleek, snub-nosed, and demure.
Immediately behind this individual, came a pale, poverty-stricken
woman, whose forlorn aspect contrasted strongly with his plump and
comfortable physiognomy. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff
gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from

the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out,
to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping
infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl.
Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of
a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not
been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual
dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from
the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. She could not be
more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the
work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom
and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor
thinned her raven hair. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and
anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting
words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had
something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to
communicate.
"Well, good night, Mr. Wood," said she, in the deep, hoarse accents of
consumption; "and may God Almighty bless and reward you for your
kindness! You were always the best of masters to my poor husband;
and now you've proved the best of friends to his widow and orphan
boy."
"Poh! poh! say no more about it," rejoined the man hastily. "I've done
no more than my duty, Mrs. Sheppard, and neither deserve nor desire
your thanks. 'Whoso giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord;' that's my
comfort. And such slight relief as I can afford should have been offered
earlier, if I'd known where you'd taken refuge after your unfortunate
husband's--"
"Execution, you would say, Sir," added Mrs. Sheppard, with a deep
sigh, perceiving that her benefactor hesitated to pronounce the word.
"You show more consideration to the feelings of a hempen widow, than
there is any need to show. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and
am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know
not how to take it. My heart would speak if it could, for it is very full.
There was a time, long, long ago, when the tears would have rushed to

my eyes unbidden at the bare mention of generosity like yours, Mr.
Wood; but they never come now. I have never wept since that day."
"And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor
soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops
from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy. Pshaw!" added he, making an
effort to subdue his emotion, "I can't leave you in this way. I must stay
a minute longer, if only to see you smile."
So saying, he re-entered the house, closed the door, and, followed by
the widow, proceeded to the fire-place, where a handful of chips,
apparently just lighted, crackled within the rusty grate.
The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable
look. Rotten, and covered with a thick coat of dirt, the boards of the
floor presented a very insecure footing; the bare walls were scored all
over with grotesque designs, the chief of which represented the
punishment of Nebuchadnezzar. The rest were hieroglyphic characters,
executed in red chalk and charcoal. The ceiling had, in many places,
given way; the laths had been removed; and, where any plaster
remained, it was either mapped and blistered with damps, or festooned
with dusty cobwebs. Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid,
patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and
scarf, a pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning
of the last century, and some other articles of female attire. On a small
shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked
ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot
without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a
flask, labelled "Rosa Solis." Broken pipes littered the floor, if that can
be said to be littered, which, in the first instance, was a mass of squalor
and filth.
Over the chimney-piece was pasted a handbill, purporting to be "The
last Dying Speech and Confession of