The murderer, full of anxious thoughts, looked after him, and pacedup and down, disquieted by every breath of air that whispered amongthe boughs, and by every light shadow thrown by the passing cloudsupon the daisied ground. He was anxious for his safe return, andyet, though his own life and safety hung upon it, felt a reliefwhile he was gone. In the intense selfishness which the constantpresence before him of his great crimes, and their consequenceshere and hereafter, engendered, every thought of Barnaby, as hisson, was swallowed up and lost. Still, his presence was a tortureand reproach; in his wild eyes, there were terrible images of thatguilty night; with his unearthly aspect, and his half-formed mind,he seemed to the murderer a creature who had sprung into existencefrom his victim"s blood. He could not bear his look, his voice,his touch; and yet he was forced, by his own desperate condition and his only hope of cheating the gibbet, to have him by his side,and to know that he was inseparable from his single chance of escape.
He walked to and fro, with little rest, all day, revolving thesethings in his mind; and still Hugh lay, unconscious, in the shed.
At length, when the sun was setting, Barnaby returned, leading theblind man, and talking earnestly to him as they came along together.
The murderer advanced to meet them, and bidding his son go on andspeak to Hugh, who had just then staggered to his feet, took hisplace at the blind man"s elbow, and slowly followed, towards theshed.
"Why did you send HIM?" said Stagg. "Don"t you know it was the wayto have him lost, as soon as found?"
"Would you have had me come myself?" returned the other.
"Humph! Perhaps not. I was before the jail on Tuesday night, butmissed you in the crowd. I was out last night, too. There wasgood work last night--gay work--profitable work"--he added,rattling the money in his pockets.
"Have you--"
--"Seen your good lady? Yes."
"Do you mean to tell me more, or not?"
"I"ll tell you all," returned the blind man, with a laugh. "Excuseme--but I love to see you so impatient. There"s energy in it."
"Does she consent to say the word that may save me?"
"No," returned the blind man emphatically, as he turned his facetowards him. "No. Thus it is. She has been at death"s door sinceshe lost her darling--has been insensible, and I know not what. Itracked her to a hospital, and presented myself (with your leave)at her bedside. Our talk was not a long one, for she was weak, andthere being people near I was not quite easy. But I told her allthat you and I agreed upon, and pointed out the young gentleman"sposition, in strong terms. She tried to soften me, but that, ofcourse (as I told her), was lost time. She cried and moaned, youmay be sure; all women do. Then, of a sudden, she found her voiceand strength, and said that Heaven would help her and her innocentson; and that to Heaven she appealed against us--which she did; in really very pretty language, I assure you. I advised her, as afriend, not to count too much on assistance from any such distantquarter--recommended her to think of it--told her where I lived-saidI knew she would send to me before noon, next day--and lefther, either in a faint or shamming."
When he had concluded this narration, during which he had madeseveral pauses, for the convenience of cracking and eating nuts, ofwhich he seemed to have a pocketful, the blind man pulled a flaskfrom his pocket, took a draught himself, and offered it to hiscompanion.
"You won"t, won"t you?" he said, feeling that he pushed it fromhim. "Well! Then the gallant gentleman who"s lodging with you,will. Hallo, bully!"
"Death!" said the other, holding him back. "Will you tell me whatI am to do!"
"Do! Nothing easier. Make a moonlight flitting in two hours" timewith the young gentleman (he"s quite ready to go; I have beengiving him good advice as we came along), and get as far fromLondon as you can. Let me know where you are, and leave the rest to me. She MUST come round; she can"t hold out long; and as to thechances of your being retaken in the meanwhile, why it wasn"t oneman who got out of Newgate, but three hundred. Think of that, foryour comfort."
"We must support life. How?"
"How!" repeated the blind man. "By eating and drinking. And howget meat and drink, but by paying for it! Money!" he cried,slapping his pocket. "Is money the word? Why, the streets havebeen running money. Devil send that the sport"s not over yet, forthese are jolly times; golden, rare, roaring, scrambling times.
Hallo, bully! Hallo! Hallo! Drink, bully, drink. Where are yethere! Hallo!"
With such vociferations, and with a boisterous manner which bespokehis perfect abandonment to the general licence and disorder, hegroped his way towards the shed, where Hugh and Barnaby weresitting on the ground.
"Put it about!" he cried, handing his flask to Hugh. "The kennelsrun with wine and gold. Guineas and strong water flow from thevery pumps. About with it, don"t spare it!"
Exhausted, unwashed, unshorn, begrimed with smoke and dust, hishair clotted with blood, his voice quite gone, so that he spoke inwhispers; his skin parched up by fever, his whole body bruised andcut, and beaten about, Hugh still took the flask, and raised it tohis lips. He was in the act of drinking, when the front of theshed was suddenly darkened, and Dennis stood before them.
"No offence, no offence," said that personage in a conciliatorytone, as Hugh stopped in his draught, and eyed him, with nopleasant look, from head to foot. "No offence, brother. Barnabyhere too, eh? How are you, Barnaby? And two other gentlemen!
Your humble servant, gentlemen. No offence to YOU either, I hope.
Eh, brothers?"