Finishing this speech with a growl like the yawn of
a wild beast, he stretched himself upon the bench
again, and closed his eyes once more.
After looking at him in silence for some moments,
Dennis, who was greatly relieved to find him in this
mood, drew the chair towards his rough couch and sat
down near him—taking the precaution, however,
to keep out of the range of his brawny arm.
‘Well said, brother; nothing could be better
said,’ he ventured to observe. ’We’ll
eat and drink of the best, and sleep our best, and
make the best of it every way. Anything can be
got for money. Let’s spend it merrily.’
‘Ay,’ said Hugh, coiling himself into
a new position.—’Where is it?’
‘Why, they took mine from me at the lodge,’
said Mr Dennis; ’but mine’s a peculiar
case.’
‘Is it? They took mine too.’
‘Why then, I tell you what, brother,’
Dennis began. ’You must look up your friends—’
‘My friends!’ cried Hugh, starting up
and resting on his hands. ’Where are my
friends?’
‘Your relations then,’ said Dennis.
‘Ha ha ha!’ laughed Hugh, waving one arm
above his head. ’He talks of friends to
me—talks of relations to a man whose mother
died the death in store for her son, and left him,
a hungry brat, without a face he knew in all the world!
He talks of this to me!’
‘Brother,’ cried the hangman, whose features
underwent a sudden change, ‘you don’t
mean to say—’
‘I mean to say,’ Hugh interposed, ’that
they hung her up at Tyburn. What was good enough
for her, is good enough for me. Let them do the
like by me as soon as they please—the sooner
the better. Say no more to me. I’m
going to sleep.’
‘But I want to speak to you; I want to hear
more about that,’ said Dennis, changing colour.
‘If you’re a wise man,’ growled
Hugh, raising his head to look at him with a frown,
‘you’ll hold your tongue. I tell you
I’m going to sleep.’
Dennis venturing to say something more in spite of
this caution, the desperate fellow struck at him with
all his force, and missing him, lay down again with
many muttered oaths and imprecations, and turned his
face towards the wall. After two or three ineffectual
twitches at his dress, which he was hardy enough to
venture upon, notwithstanding his dangerous humour,
Mr Dennis, who burnt, for reasons of his own, to pursue
the conversation, had no alternative but to sit as
patiently as he could: waiting his further pleasure.
A month has elapsed,—and we stand in the
bedchamber of Sir John Chester. Through the half-opened
window, the Temple Garden looks green and pleasant;
the placid river, gay with boat and barge, and dimpled
with the plash of many an oar, sparkles in the distance;
the sky is blue and clear; and the summer air steals
gently in, filling the room with perfume. The
very town, the smoky town, is radiant. High roofs
and steeple-tops, wont to look black and sullen, smile
a cheerful grey; every old gilded vane, and ball,
and cross, glitters anew in the bright morning sun;
and, high among them all, St Paul’s towers up,
showing its lofty crest in burnished gold.
