第 52 页

'Strong enough!' answered the other, with assumed disdain. 'Here, you

Sir, give me that box out of the straw!'

This was addressed to the gipsy, who crawled into the low tent on all

fours, and after some rummaging and rustling returned with a cash-box,

which the man who had spoken opened with a key he wore about his person.

'Do you see this?' he said, gathering up the money in his hand and

letting it drop back into the box, between his fingers, like water.

'Do you hear it? Do you know the sound of gold? There, put it

back--and don't talk about banks again, Isaac, till you've got one of

your own.'

Isaac List, with great apparent humility, protested that he had never

doubted the credit of a gentleman so notorious for his honourable

dealing as Mr Jowl, and that he had hinted at the production of the

box, not for the satisfaction of his doubts, for he could have none,

but with a view to being regaled with a sight of so much wealth, which,

though it might be deemed by some but an unsubstantial and visionary

pleasure, was to one in his circumstances a source of extreme delight,

only to be surpassed by its safe depository in his own personal

pockets. Although Mr List and Mr Jowl addressed themselves to each

other, it was remarkable that they both looked narrowly at the old man,

who, with his eyes fixed upon the fire, sat brooding over it, yet

listening eagerly--as it seemed from a certain involuntary motion of

the head, or twitching of the face from time to time--to all they said.

'My advice,' said Jowl, lying down again with a careless air, 'is

plain--I have given it, in fact. I act as a friend. Why should I help

a man to the means perhaps of winning all I have, unless I considered

him my friend? It's foolish, I dare say, to be so thoughtful of the

welfare of other people, but that's my constitution, and I can't help

it; so don't blame me, Isaac List.'

'I blame you!' returned the person addressed; 'not for the world, Mr

Jowl. I wish I could afford to be as liberal as you; and, as you say,

he might pay it back if he won--and if he lost--'

'You're not to take that into consideration at all,' said Jowl.

'But suppose he did (and nothing's less likely, from all I know of

chances), why, it's better to lose other people's money than one's own,

I hope?'

'Ah!' cried Isaac List rapturously, 'the pleasures of winning! The

delight of picking up the money--the bright, shining yellow-boys--and

sweeping 'em into one's pocket! The deliciousness of having a triumph

at last, and thinking that one didn't stop short and turn back, but

went half-way to meet it! The--but you're not going, old gentleman?'

'I'll do it,' said the old man, who had risen and taken two or three

hurried steps away, and now returned as hurriedly. 'I'll have it,

every penny.'

'Why, that's brave,' cried Isaac, jumping up and slapping him on the

shoulder; 'and I respect you for having so much young blood left. Ha,

ha, ha! Joe Jowl's half sorry he advised you now. We've got the laugh

against him. Ha, ha, ha!'

'He gives me my revenge, mind,' said the old man, pointing to him

eagerly with his shrivelled hand: 'mind--he stakes coin against coin,

down to the last one in the box, be there many or few. Remember that!'

'I'm witness,' returned Isaac. 'I'll see fair between you.'

'I have passed my word,' said Jowl with feigned reluctance, 'and I'll

keep it. When does this match come off? I wish it was over.--To-night?'

'I must have the money first,' said the old man; 'and that I'll have

to-morrow--'

'Why not to-night?' urged Jowl.

'It's late now, and I should be flushed and flurried,' said the old

man. 'It must be softly done. No, to-morrow night.'

'Then to-morrow be it,' said Jowl. 'A drop of comfort here. Luck to

the best man! Fill!'

The gipsy produced three tin cups, and filled them to the brim with

brandy. The old man turned aside and muttered to himself before he

drank. Her own name struck upon the listener's ear, coupled with some

wish so fervent, that he seemed to breathe it in an agony of

supplication.

'God be merciful to us!' cried the child within herself, 'and help us

in this trying hour! What shall I do to save him!'

The remainder of their conversation was carried on in a lower tone of

voice, and was sufficiently concise; relating merely to the execution

of the project, and the best precautions for diverting suspicion. The

old man then shook hands with his tempters, and withdrew.

They watched his bowed and stooping figure as it retreated slowly, and

when he turned his head to look back, which he often did, waved their

hands, or shouted some brief encouragement. It was not until they had

seen him gradually diminish into a mere speck upon the distant road,

that they turned to each other, and ventured to laugh aloud.

'So,' said Jowl, warming his hands at the fire, 'it's done at last. He

wanted more persuading than I expected. It's three weeks ago, since we

first put this in his head. What'll he bring, do you think?'

'Whatever he brings, it's halved between us,' returned Isaac List.

The other man nodded. 'We must make quick work of it,' he said, 'and

then cut his acquaintance, or we may be suspected. Sharp's the word.'

List and the gipsy acquiesced. When they had all three amused

themselves a little with their victim's infatuation, they dismissed the

subject as one which had been sufficiently discussed, and began to talk

in a jargon which the child did not understand. As their discourse

appeared to relate to matters in which they were warmly interested,

however, she deemed it the best time for escaping unobserved; and crept

away with slow and cautious steps, keeping in the shadow of the hedges,

or forcing a path through them or the dry ditches, until she could

emerge upon the road at a point beyond their range of vision. Then she

fled homeward as quickly as she could, torn and bleeding from the

wounds of thorns and briars, but more lacerated in mind, and threw

herself upon her bed, distracted.

The first idea that flashed upon her mind was flight, instant flight;

dragging him from that place, and rather dying of want upon the

roadside, than ever exposing him again to such terrible temptations.

Then, she remembered that the crime was not to be committed until next

night, and there was the intermediate time for thinking, and resolving

what to do. Then, she was distracted with a horrible fear that he

might be committing it at that moment; with a dread of hearing shrieks

and cries piercing the silence of the night; with fearful thoughts of

what he might be tempted and led on to do, if he were detected in the

act, and had but a woman to struggle with. It was impossible to bear

such torture. She stole to the room where the money was, opened the

door, and looked in. God be praised! He was not there, and she was

sleeping soundly.

She went back to her own room, and tried to prepare herself for bed.

But who could sleep--sleep! who could lie passively down, distracted by

such terrors? They came upon her more and more strongly yet. Half

undressed, and with her hair in wild disorder, she flew to the old

man's bedside, clasped him by the wrist, and roused him from his sleep.

'What's this!' he cried, starting up in bed, and fixing his eyes upon

her spectral face.

'I have had a dreadful dream,' said the child, with an energy that

nothing but such terrors could have inspired. 'A dreadful, horrible

dream. I have had it once before. It is a dream of grey-haired men

like you, in darkened rooms by night, robbing sleepers of their gold.

Up, up!'

The old man shook in every joint, and folded his hands like one who

prays.

'Not to me,' said the child, 'not to me--to Heaven, to save us from

such deeds! This dream is too real. I cannot sleep, I cannot stay

here, I cannot leave you alone under the roof where such dreams come.

Up! We must fly.'

He looked at her as if she were a spirit--she might have been for all

the look of earth she had--and trembled more and more.

'There is no time to lose; I will not lose one minute,' said the child.

'Up! and away with me!'

'To-night?' murmured the old man.

'Yes, to-night,' replied the child. 'To-morrow night will be too late.

The dream will have come again. Nothing but flight can save us. Up!'

The old man rose from his bed: his forehead bedewed with the cold sweat

of fear: and, bending before the child as if she had been an angel

messenger sent to lead him where she would, made ready to follow her.

She took him by the hand and led him on. As they passed the door of the

room he had proposed to rob, she shuddered and looked up into his

face. What a white face was that, and with what a look did he meet

hers!

She took him to her own chamber, and, still holding him by the hand as

if she feared to lose him for an instant, gathered together the little

stock she had, and hung her basket on her arm. The old man took his

wallet from her hands and strapped it on his shoulders--his staff,

too, she had brought away--and then she led him forth.

Through the strait streets, and narrow crooked outskirts, their

trembling feet passed quickly. Up the steep hill too, crowned by the

old grey castle, they toiled with rapid steps, and had not once looked

behind.

But as they drew nearer the ruined walls, the moon rose in all her

gentle glory, and, from their venerable age, garlanded with ivy, moss,

and waving grass, the child looked back upon the sleeping town, deep in

the valley's shade: and on the far-off river with its winding track of

light: and on the distant hills; and as she did so, she clasped the

hand she held, less firmly, and bursting into tears, fell upon the old

man's neck.

CHAPTER 43

Her momentary weakness past, the child again summoned the resolution

which had until now sustained her, and, endeavouring to keep steadily

in her view the one idea that they were flying from disgrace and crime,

and that her grandfather's preservation must depend solely on her

firmness, unaided by one word of advice or any helping hand, urged him

onward and looked back no more.

While he, subdued and abashed, seemed to crouch before her, and to

shrink and cower down, as if in the presence of some superior creature,

the child herself was sensible of a new feeling within her, which

elevated her nature, and inspired her with an energy and confidence she

had never known. There was no divided responsibility now; the whole

burden of their two lives had fallen upon her, and henceforth she must

think and act for both. 'I have saved him,' she thought. 'In all

dangers and distresses, I will remember that.'

At any other time, the recollection of having deserted the friend who

had shown them so much homely kindness, without a word of

justification--the thought that they were guilty, in appearance, of

treachery and ingratitude--even the having parted from the two

sisters--would have filled her with sorrow and regret. But now, all

other considerations were lost in the new uncertainties and anxieties

of their wild and wandering life; and the very desperation of their

condition roused and stimulated her.

In the pale moonlight, which lent a wanness of its own to the delicate

face where thoughtful care already mingled with the winning grace and

loveliness of youth, the too bright eye, the spiritual head, the lips

that pressed each other with such high resolve and courage of the

heart, the slight figure firm in its bearing and yet so very weak, told

their silent tale; but told it only to the wind that rustled by, which,

taking up its burden, carried, perhaps to some mother's pillow, faint

dreams of childhood fading in its bloom, and resting in the sleep that

knows no waking.

The night crept on apace, the moon went down, the stars grew pale and

dim, and morning, cold as they, slowly approached. Then, from behind a

distant hill, the noble sun rose up, driving the mists in phantom

shapes before it, and clearing the earth of their ghostly forms till

darkness came again. When it had climbed higher into the sky, and

there was warmth in its cheerful beams, they laid them down to sleep,

upon a bank, hard by some water.

But Nell retained her grasp upon the old man's arm, and long after he

was slumbering soundly, watched him with untiring eyes. Fatigue stole

over her at last; her grasp relaxed, tightened, relaxed again, and they

slept side by side.

A confused sound of voices, mingling with her dreams, awoke her. A man

of very uncouth and rough appearance was standing over them, and two of

his companions were looking on, from a long heavy boat which had come

close to the bank while they were sleeping. The boat had neither oar

nor sail, but was towed by a couple of horses, who, with the rope to

which they were harnessed slack and dripping in the water, were resting

on the path.

'Holloa!' said the man roughly. 'What's the matter here?'

'We were only asleep, Sir,' said Nell. 'We have been walking all

night.'

'A pair of queer travellers to be walking all night,' observed the man

who had first accosted them. 'One of you is a trifle too old for that

sort of work, and the other a trifle too young. Where are you going?'

Nell faltered, and pointed at hazard towards the West, upon which the

man inquired if she meant a certain town which he named. Nell, to

avoid more questioning, said 'Yes, that was the place.'

'Where have you come from?' was the next question; and this being an