"Before to-morrow night that boy shall join his father."

So saying, he unlocked the door and strode out of the room.

"Here are some letters, which will let you see what a snake you've
cherished in your bosom, you uxorious old dotard," said Blueskin,
tossing a packet of papers to Wood, as he followed his leader.

"'Odd's-my-life! what's this?" exclaimed the carpenter, looking at the
superscription of one of them. "Why, this is your writing Dolly, and
addressed to Mr. Kneebone."

"My writing! no such thing!" ejaculated the lady, casting a look of
alarm at the woollen-draper.

"Confusion! the rascal must have picked my pocket of your letters,"
whispered Kneebone, "What's to be done?"

"What's to be done! Why, I'm undone! How imprudent in you not to burn
them. But men _are_ so careless, there's no trusting anything to them!
However, I must try to brazen it out.--Give me the letters, my love,"
she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked
forgeries."

"Excuse me, Madam," replied the carpenter, turning his back upon her,
and sinking into a chair: "Thames, my love, bring me my spectacles. My
heart misgives me. Fool that I was to marry for beauty! I ought to have
remembered that a fair woman and a slashed gown always find some nail in
the way."