Mr.
Wood could give him no further information respecting Sir Rowland Trenchard than what he had obtained from Kneebone; but begged him to defer the further consideration of the line of conduct he meant to pursue until the morrow, when he hoped to have a plan to lay before him, of which he would approve.
The night was now advancing, and the party began to think of separating.
As Mrs.Wood, who had recovered her good humour, quitted the room she bestowed a hearty embrace on Thames, and she told him laughingly, that she would "defer all _she_ had to propose to him until to-morrow." To-morrow! She never beheld it.
After an affectionate parting with Winifred, Thames was conducted by the carpenter to his sleeping apartment--a comfortable cosy chamber; such a one, in short, as can only be met with in the country, with its dimity-curtained bed, its sheets fragrant of lavender, its clean white furniture, and an atmosphere breathing of freshness.

Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself.

It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections.
When about to retire to rest, the rencounter with Jack Sheppard again recurred to him, and he half blamed himself for not acquainting Mr.Wood with the circumstances, and putting him upon his guard against the possibility of an attack.

On weighing the matter over, he grew so uneasy that he resolved to descend, and inform him of his misgivings.

But, when he got to the door with this intention, he became ashamed of his fears; and feeling convinced that Jack--bad as he might be--was not capable of such atrocious conduct as to plunder his benefactor twice, he contented himself with looking to the priming of his pistols, and placing them near him, to be ready in case of need, he threw himself on the bed and speedily fell asleep..