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whispered among the boughs； and by every light shadow thrown
by the passing clouds upon the daisied ground。 He was anxious for
his safe return； and yet； though his own life and safety hung upon
it； felt a relief while he was gone。 In the intense selfishness which
the constant presence before him of his great crimes； and their
consequences here and hereafter； engendered； every thought of
Barnaby； as his son； was swallowed up and lost。 Still； his presence
was a torture and reproach； in his wild eyes； there were terrible
images of that guilty night； with his unearthly aspect； and his half…
formed mind； he seemed to the murderer a creature who had
sprung into existence from 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 these
things in his mind； and still Hugh lay； unconscious； in the shed。 At
length； when the sun was setting； Barnaby returned； leading the
blind man； and talking earnestly to him as they came along
together。
The murderer advanced to meet them； and bidding his son go
on and speak to Hugh； who had just then staggered to his feet；
took his place at the blind man’s elbow； and slowly followed；
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towards the shed。
‘Why did you send him？’ said Stagg。 ‘Don’t you know it was the
way to 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；
but missed you in the crowd。 I was out last night； too。 There was
good 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。 ‘Excuse
me—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 face
towards him。 ‘No。 Thus it is。 She has been at death’s door since
she lost her darling—has been insensible； and I know not what。 I
tracked her to a hospital； and presented myself （with your leave） at
her bedside。 Our talk was not a long one； for she was weak； and
there being people near I was not quite easy。 But I told her all that
you and I agreed upon； and pointed out the young gentleman’s
position； in strong terms。 She tried to soften me； but that； of
course （as I told her）； was lost time。 She cried and moaned； you
may be sure； all women do。 Then； of a sudden； she found her voice
and strength； and said that Heaven would help her and her
innocent son； and that to Heaven she appealed against us—which
she did； in really very pretty language； I assure you。 I advised her；
as a friend； not to count too much on assistance from any such
distant quarter—recommended her to think of it—told her where I
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lived—said I knew she would send to me before noon； next day—
and left her； either in a faint or shamming。’
When he had concluded this narration； during which he had
made several pauses； for the convenience of cracking and eating
nuts； of which he seemed to have a pocketful； the blind man pulled
a flask from his pocket； took a draught himself； and offered it to
his companion。
‘You won’t； won’t you？’ he said； feeling that he pushed it from
him。 ‘Well！ Then the gallant gentleman who’s lodging with you；
will。 Hallo； bully！’
‘Death！’ said the other； holding him back。 ‘Will you tell me what
I am to do！’
‘Do！ Nothing easier。 Make a moonlight flitting in two hours’
time with the young gentleman （he’s quite ready to go； I have been
giving him good advice as we came along）； and get as far from
London 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 the
chances of your being retaken in the meanwhile； why it wasn’t one
man who got out of Newgate； but three hundred。 Think of that； for
your comfort。’
‘We must support life。 How？’
‘How！’ repeated the blind man。 ‘By eating and drinking。 And
how get meat and drink； but by paying for it！ Money！’ he cried；
slapping his pocket。 ‘Is money the word？ Why； the streets have
been running money。 Devil send that the sport’s not over yet； for
these are jolly times； golden； rare； roaring； scrambling times。
Hallo； bully！ Hallo！ Hallo！ Drink； bully； drink。 Where are ye there！
Hallo！’
With such vociferations； and with a boisterous manner which
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bespoke his perfect abandonment to the general licence and
disorder； he groped his way towards the shed； where Hugh and
Barnaby were sitting on the ground。
‘Put it about！’ he cried； handing his flask to Hugh。 ‘The kennels
run with wine and gold。 Guineas and strong water flow from the
very pumps。 About with it； don’t spare it！’
Exhausted； unwashed； unshorn； begrimed with smoke and
dust； his hair clotted with blood； his voice quite gone； so that he
spoke in whispers； his skin parched up by fever； his whole body
bruised and cut； and beaten about； Hugh still took the flask； and
raised it to his lips。 He was in the act of drinking； when the front of
the shed was suddenly darkened； and Dennis stood before them。
‘No offence； no offence；’ said that personage in a conciliatory
tone； as Hugh stopped in his draught； and eyed him； with no
pleasant look； from head to foot。 ‘No offence； brother。 Barnaby
here too； eh？ How are you； Barnaby？ And two other gentlemen！
Your humble servant； gentlemen。 No offence to you either； I hope。
Eh； brothers？’
Notwithstanding that he spoke in this very friendly and
confident manner； he seemed to have considerable hesitation
about entering； and remained outside the roof。 He was rather
better dressed than usual： wearing the same suit of threadbare
black； it is true； but having round his neck an unwholesome…
looking cravat of a yellowish white； and； on his hands； great
leather gloves； such as a gardener might wear in following his
trade。 His shoes were newly greased； and ornamented with a pair
of rusty iron buckles； the packthread at his knees had been
renewed； and where he wanted buttons； he wore pins。 Altogether；
he had something the look of a tipstaff； or a bailiff’s follower；
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desperately faded； but who had a notion of keeping up the
appearance of a professional character； and making the best of the
worst means。
‘You’re very snug here；’ said Mr Dennis； pulling out a mouldy
pocket…handkerchief； which looked like a decomposed halter； and
wiping his forehead in a nervous manner。
‘Not snug enough to prevent your finding us； it seems；’ Hugh
answered； sulkily。