"Well, Winny?"

"I don't know what I was going to say," she added, in some confusion;
"only I'm sorry you were born a gentleman."

"Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of
Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him. "But never mind who, or
what I am. Give me this picture. I'll keep it for your sake."

"I'll give you something better worth keeping," she answered, detaching
the ornament from her neck, and presenting it to him; "this contains a
lock of my hair, and may remind you sometimes of your little sister. As
to the picture, I'll keep it myself, though, if you _do_ go I shall need
no memorial of _you_. I'd a good many things to say to you, besides--but
you've put them all out of my head."

With this, she burst into tears, and sank with her face upon his
shoulder. Thames did not try to cheer her. His own heart was too full of
melancholy foreboding. He felt that he might soon be separated--perhaps,
for ever--from the fond little creature he held in his arms, whom he had
always regarded with the warmest fraternal affection, and the thought of
how much she would suffer from the separation so sensibly affected him,
that he could not help joining in her grief.

From this sorrowful state he was aroused by a loud derisive whistle,
followed by a still louder laugh; and, looking up, he beheld the
impudent countenance of Jack Sheppard immediately before him.

"Aha!" exclaimed Jack, with a roguish wink, "I've caught you,--have I?"