Jack Sheppard | Page 6

think of that, Mrs. Sheppard," said Wood in a soothing
tone.
"I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. "I can never get

poor Tom's last look out of my head, as he stood in the Stone-Hall at
Newgate, after his irons had been knocked off, unless I manage to
stupify myself somehow. The dismal tolling of St. Sepulchre's bell is
for ever ringing in my ears--oh!"
"If that's the case," observed Wood, "I'm surprised you should like to
have such a frightful picture constantly in view as that over the
chimney-piece."
"I'd good reasons for placing it there, Sir; but don't question me about
them now, or you'll drive me mad," returned Mrs. Sheppard wildly.
"Well, well, we'll say no more about it," replied Wood; "and, by way of
changing the subject, let me advise you on no account to fly to strong
waters for consolation, Joan. One nail drives out another, it's true; but
the worst nail you can employ is a coffin-nail. Gin Lane's the nearest
road to the churchyard."
"It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I
care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be
roused into sudden eloquence. "To those who, like me, have never been
able to get out of the dark and dreary paths of life, the grave is indeed a
refuge, and the sooner they reach it the better. The spirit I drink may be
poison,--it may kill me,--perhaps it is killing me:--but so would hunger,
cold, misery,--so would my own thoughts. I should have gone mad
without it. Gin is the poor man's friend,--his sole set-off against the rich
man's luxury. It comforts him when he is most forlorn. It may be
treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present
happiness, and that is sufficient. When I have traversed the streets a
houseless wanderer, driven with curses from every door where I have
solicited alms, and with blows from every gateway where I have sought
shelter,--when I have crept into some deserted building, and stretched
my wearied limbs upon a bulk, in the vain hope of repose,--or, worse
than all, when, frenzied with want, I have yielded to horrible temptation,
and earned a meal in the only way I could earn one,--when I have felt,
at times like these, my heart sink within me, I have drank of this drink,
and have at once forgotten my cares, my poverty, my guilt. Old
thoughts, old feelings, old faces, and old scenes have returned to me,

and I have fancied myself happy,--as happy as I am now." And she
burst into a wild hysterical laugh.
"Poor creature!" ejaculated Wood. "Do you call this frantic glee
happiness?"
"It's all the happiness I have known for years," returned the widow,
becoming suddenly calm, "and it's short-lived enough, as you perceive.
I tell you what, Mr. Wood," added she in a hollow voice, and with a
ghastly look, "gin may bring ruin; but as long as poverty, vice, and
ill-usage exist, it will be drunk."
"God forbid!" exclaimed Wood, fervently; and, as if afraid of
prolonging the interview, he added, with some precipitation, "But I
must be going: I've stayed here too long already. You shall hear from
me to-morrow."
"Stay!" said Mrs. Sheppard, again arresting his departure. "I've just
recollected that my husband left a key with me, which he charged me to
give you when I could find an opportunity."
"A key!" exclaimed Wood eagerly. "I lost a very valuable one some
time ago. What's it like, Joan?"
"It's a small key, with curiously-fashioned wards."
"It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. "Well, who'd have thought of
finding it in this unexpected way!"
"Don't be too sure till you see it," said the widow. "Shall I fetch it for
you, Sir?"
"By all means."
"I must trouble you to hold the child, then, for a minute, while I run up
to the garret, where I've hidden it for safety," said Mrs. Sheppard. "I
think I may trust him with you, Sir," added she, taking up the candle.
"Don't leave him, if you're at all fearful, my dear," replied Wood,

receiving the little burthen with a laugh. "Poor thing!" muttered he, as
the widow departed on her errand, "she's seen better days and better
circumstances than she'll ever see again, I'm sure. Strange, I could
never learn her history. Tom Sheppard was always a close file, and
would never tell whom he married. Of this I'm certain, however, she
was much too good for him, and was never meant to be a journeyman
carpenter's wife, still less what is she now. Her heart's in the right place,
at all events; and, since that's the case, the rest may perhaps come