Barnaby Rudge: a tale of the Riots of 'eighty eBook

‘The villain’s part,’ muttered Edward, ’that I have unconsciously played!  I to win the heart of Emma Haredale!  I would, for her sake, I had died first!’

‘I am glad you see, Ned,’ returned his father, ’how perfectly self-evident it is, that nothing can be done in that quarter.  But apart from this, and the necessity of your speedily bestowing yourself on another (as you know you could to-morrow, if you chose), I wish you’d look upon it pleasantly.  In a religious point of view alone, how could you ever think of uniting yourself to a Catholic, unless she was amazingly rich?  You ought to be so very Protestant, coming of such a Protestant family as you do.  Let us be moral, Ned, or we are nothing.  Even if one could set that objection aside, which is impossible, we come to another which is quite conclusive.  The very idea of marrying a girl whose father was killed, like meat!  Good God, Ned, how disagreeable!  Consider the impossibility of having any respect for your father-in-law under such unpleasant circumstances—­think of his having been “viewed” by jurors, and “sat upon” by coroners, and of his very doubtful position in the family ever afterwards.  It seems to me such an indelicate sort of thing that I really think the girl ought to have been put to death by the state to prevent its happening.  But I tease you perhaps.  You would rather be alone?  My dear Ned, most willingly.  God bless you.  I shall be going out presently, but we shall meet to-night, or if not to-night, certainly to-morrow.  Take care of yourself in the mean time, for both our sakes.  You are a person of great consequence to me, Ned—­of vast consequence indeed.  God bless you!’

With these words, the father, who had been arranging his cravat in the glass, while he uttered them in a disconnected careless manner, withdrew, humming a tune as he went.  The son, who had appeared so lost in thought as not to hear or understand them, remained quite still and silent.  After the lapse of half an hour or so, the elder Chester, gaily dressed, went out.  The younger still sat with his head resting on his hands, in what appeared to be a kind of stupor.

Chapter 16

A series of pictures representing the streets of London in the night, even at the comparatively recent date of this tale, would present to the eye something so very different in character from the reality which is witnessed in these times, that it would be difficult for the beholder to recognise his most familiar walks in the altered aspect of little more than half a century ago.