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Chapter 15

  • It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blow_old: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade. We had out pea- coats with us, and I took a bag. Of all my worldly possessions I took no mor_han the few necessaries that filled the bag. Where I might go, what I migh_o, or when I might return, were questions utterly unknown to me; nor did _ex my mind with them, for it was wholly set on Provis’s safety. I onl_ondered for the passing moment, as I stopped at the door and looked back, under what altered circumstances I should next see those rooms, if ever.
  • We loitered down to the Temple stairs, and stood loitering there, as if w_ere not quite decided to go upon the water at all. Of course, I had take_are that the boat should be ready and everything in order. After a littl_how of indecision, which there were none to see but the two or thre_mphibious creatures belonging to our Temple stairs, we went on board and cas_ff; Herbert in the bow, I steering. It was then about high-water,— half-pas_ight.
  • Our plan was this. The tide, beginning to run down at nine, and being with u_ntil three, we intended still to creep on after it had turned, and ro_gainst it until dark. We should then be well in those long reaches belo_ravesend, between Kent and Essex, where the river is broad and solitary, where the water-side inhabitants are very few, and where lone public-house_re scattered here and there, of which we could choose one for a resting- place. There, we meant to lie by all night. The steamer for Hamburg and th_teamer for Rotterdam would start from London at about nine on Thursda_orning. We should know at what time to expect them, according to where w_ere, and would hail the first; so that, if by any accident we were not take_broad, we should have another chance. We knew the distinguishing marks o_ach vessel.
  • The relief of being at last engaged in the execution of the purpose was s_reat to me that I felt it difficult to realize the condition in which I ha_een a few hours before. The crisp air, the sunlight, the movement on th_iver, and the moving river itself,—the road that ran with us, seeming t_ympathize with us, animate us, and encourage us on,—freshened me with ne_ope. I felt mortified to be of so little use in the boat; but, there were fe_etter oarsmen than my two friends, and they rowed with a steady stroke tha_as to last all day.
  • At that time, the steam-traffic on the Thames was far below its presen_xtent, and watermen’s boats were far more numerous. Of barges, sailin_olliers, and coasting-traders, there were perhaps, as many as now; but o_team-ships, great and small, not a tithe or a twentieth part so many. Earl_s it was, there were plenty of scullers going here and there that morning, and plenty of barges dropping down with the tide; the navigation of the rive_etween bridges, in an open boat, was a much easier and commoner matter i_hose days than it is in these; and we went ahead among many skiffs an_herries briskly.
  • Old London Bridge was soon passed, and old Billingsgate Market with it_yster-boats and Dutchmen, and the White Tower and Traitor’s Gate, and we wer_n among the tiers of shipping. Here were the Leith, Aberdeen, and Glasgo_teamers, loading and unloading goods, and looking immensely high out of th_ater as we passed alongside; here, were colliers by the score and score, wit_he coal-whippers plunging off stages on deck, as counterweights to measure_f coal swinging up, which were then rattled over the side into barges; here, at her moorings was to-morrow’s steamer for Rotterdam, of which we took goo_otice; and here to-morrow’s for Hamburg, under whose bowsprit we crossed. An_ow I, sitting in the stern, could see, with a faster beating heart, Mill Pon_ank and Mill Pond stairs.
  • “Is he there?” said Herbert.
  • “Not yet.”
  • “Right! He was not to come down till he saw us. Can you see his signal?”
  • “Not well from here; but I think I see it.—Now I see him! Pull both. Easy, Herbert. Oars!”
  • We touched the stairs lightly for a single moment, and he was on board, and w_ere off again. He had a boat-cloak with him, and a black canvas bag; and h_ooked as like a river-pilot as my heart could have wished.
  • “Dear boy!” he said, putting his arm on my shoulder, as he took his seat.
  • “Faithful dear boy, well done. Thankye, thankye!”
  • Again among the tiers of shipping, in and out, avoiding rusty chain-cable_rayed hempen hawsers and bobbing buoys, sinking for the moment floatin_roken baskets, scattering floating chips of wood and shaving, cleavin_loating scum of coal, in and out, under the figure-head of the John o_underland making a speech to the winds (as is done by many Johns), and th_etsy of Yarmouth with a firm formality of bosom and her knobby eyes startin_wo inches out of her head; in and out, hammers going in ship-builders’ yards, saws going at timber, clashing engines going at things unknown, pumps going i_eaky ships, capstans going, ships going out to sea, and unintelligible sea- creatures roaring curses over the bulwarks at respondent lightermen, in an_ut,—out at last upon the clearer river, where the ships’ boys might tak_heir fenders in, no longer fishing in troubled waters with them over th_ide, and where the festooned sails might fly out to the wind.
  • At the Stairs where we had taken him abroad, and ever since, I had looke_arily for any token of our being suspected. I had seen none. We certainly ha_ot been, and at that time as certainly we were not either attended o_ollowed by any boat. If we had been waited on by any boat, I should have ru_n to shore, and have obliged her to go on, or to make her purpose evident.
  • But we held our own without any appearance of molestation.
  • He had his boat-cloak on him, and looked, as I have said, a natural part o_he scene. It was remarkable (but perhaps the wretched life he had le_ccounted for it) that he was the least anxious of any of us. He was no_ndifferent, for he told me that he hoped to live to see his gentleman one o_he best of gentlemen in a foreign country; he was not disposed to be passiv_r resigned, as I understood it; but he had no notion of meeting danger hal_ay. When it came upon him, he confronted it, but it must come before h_roubled himself.
  • “If you knowed, dear boy,” he said to me, “what it is to sit here alonger m_ear boy and have my smoke, arter having been day by day betwixt four walls, you’d envy me. But you don’t know what it is.”
  • “I think I know the delights of freedom,” I answered.
  • “Ah,” said he, shaking his head gravely. “But you don’t know it equal to me.
  • You must have been under lock and key, dear boy, to know it equal to me,—but _in’t a going to be low.”
  • It occurred to me as inconsistent, that, for any mastering idea, he shoul_ave endangered his freedom, and even his life. But I reflected that perhap_reedom without danger was too much apart from all the habit of his existenc_o be to him what it would be to another man. I was not far out, since h_aid, after smoking a little:—
  • “You see, dear boy, when I was over yonder, t’other side the world, I wa_lways a looking to this side; and it come flat to be there, for all I was _rowing rich. Everybody knowed Magwitch, and Magwitch could come, and Magwitc_ould go, and nobody’s head would be troubled about him. They ain’t so eas_oncerning me here, dear boy,—wouldn’t be, leastwise, if they knowed where _as.”
  • “If all goes well,” said I, “you will be perfectly free and safe again withi_ few hours.”
  • “Well,” he returned, drawing a long breath, “I hope so.”
  • “And think so?”
  • He dipped his hand in the water over the boat’s gunwale, and said, smilin_ith that softened air upon him which was not new to me:—
  • “Ay, I s’pose I think so, dear boy. We’d be puzzled to be more quiet and easy- going than we are at present. But—it’s a flowing so soft and pleasant throug_he water, p’raps, as makes me think it—I was a thinking through my smoke jus_hen, that we can no more see to the bottom of the next few hours than we ca_ee to the bottom of this river what I catches hold of. Nor yet we can’t n_ore hold their tide than I can hold this. And it’s run through my fingers an_one, you see!” holding up his dripping hand.
  • “But for your face I should think you were a little despondent,” said I.
  • “Not a bit on it, dear boy! It comes of flowing on so quiet, and of that ther_ippling at the boat’s head making a sort of a Sunday tune. Maybe I’m _rowing a trifle old besides.”
  • He put his pipe back in his mouth with an undisturbed expression of face, an_at as composed and contented as if we were already out of England. Yet he wa_s submissive to a word of advice as if he had been in constant terror; for, when we ran ashore to get some bottles of beer into the boat, and he wa_tepping out, I hinted that I thought he would be safest where he was, and h_aid. “Do you, dear boy?” and quietly sat down again.
  • The air felt cold upon the river, but it was a bright day, and the sunshin_as very cheering. The tide ran strong, I took care to lose none of it, an_ur steady stroke carried us on thoroughly well. By imperceptible degrees, a_he tide ran out, we lost more and more of the nearer woods and hills, an_ropped lower and lower between the muddy banks, but the tide was yet with u_hen we were off Gravesend. As our charge was wrapped in his cloak, _urposely passed within a boat or two’s length of the floating Custom House, and so out to catch the stream, alongside of two emigrant ships, and under th_ows of a large transport with troops on the forecastle looking down at us.
  • And soon the tide began to slacken, and the craft lying at anchor to swing, and presently they had all swung round, and the ships that were takin_dvantage of the new tide to get up to the Pool began to crowd upon us in _leet, and we kept under the shore, as much out of the strength of the tid_ow as we could, standing carefully off from low shallows and mudbanks.
  • Our oarsmen were so fresh, by dint of having occasionally let her drive wit_he tide for a minute or two, that a quarter of an hour’s rest proved full a_uch as they wanted. We got ashore among some slippery stones while we ate an_rank what we had with us, and looked about. It was like my own marsh country, flat and monotonous, and with a dim horizon; while the winding river turne_nd turned, and the great floating buoys upon it turned and turned, an_verything else seemed stranded and still. For now the last of the fleet o_hips was round the last low point we had headed; and the last green barge, straw-laden, with a brown sail, had followed; and some ballast-lighters, shaped like a child’s first rude imitation of a boat, lay low in the mud; an_ little squat shoal-lighthouse on open piles stood crippled in the mud o_tilts and crutches; and slimy stakes stuck out of the mud, and slimy stone_tuck out of the mud, and red landmarks and tidemarks stuck out of the mud, and an old landing-stage and an old roofless building slipped into the mud, and all about us was stagnation and mud.
  • We pushed off again, and made what way we could. It was much harder work now, but Herbert and Startop persevered, and rowed and rowed and rowed until th_un went down. By that time the river had lifted us a little, so that we coul_ee above the bank. There was the red sun, on the low level of the shore, in _urple haze, fast deepening into black; and there was the solitary flat marsh; and far away there were the rising grounds, between which and us there seeme_o be no life, save here and there in the foreground a melancholy gull.
  • As the night was fast falling, and as the moon, being past the full, would no_ise early, we held a little council; a short one, for clearly our course wa_o lie by at the first lonely tavern we could find. So, they plied their oar_nce more, and I looked out for anything like a house. Thus we held on, speaking little, for four or five dull miles. It was very cold, and, a collie_oming by us, with her galley-fire smoking and flaring, looked like _omfortable home. The night was as dark by this time as it would be unti_orning; and what light we had, seemed to come more from the river than th_ky, as the oars in their dipping struck at a few reflected stars.
  • At this dismal time we were evidently all possessed by the idea that we wer_ollowed. As the tide made, it flapped heavily at irregular intervals agains_he shore; and whenever such a sound came, one or other of us was sure t_tart, and look in that direction. Here and there, the set of the current ha_orn down the bank into a little creek, and we were all suspicious of suc_laces, and eyed them nervously. Sometimes, “What was that ripple?” one of u_ould say in a low voice. Or another, “Is that a boat yonder?” And afterward_e would fall into a dead silence, and I would sit impatiently thinking wit_hat an unusual amount of noise the oars worked in the thowels.
  • At length we descried a light and a roof, and presently afterwards ra_longside a little causeway made of stones that had been picked up hard by.
  • Leaving the rest in the boat, I stepped ashore, and found the light to be in _indow of a public-house. It was a dirty place enough, and I dare say no_nknown to smuggling adventurers; but there was a good fire in the kitchen, and there were eggs and bacon to eat, and various liquors to drink. Also, there were two double-bedded rooms,—“such as they were,” the landlord said. N_ther company was in the house than the landlord, his wife, and a grizzle_ale creature, the “Jack” of the little causeway, who was as slimy and smear_s if he had been low-water mark too.
  • With this assistant, I went down to the boat again, and we all came ashore, and brought out the oars, and rudder and boat-hook, and all else, and haule_er up for the night. We made a very good meal by the kitchen fire, and the_pportioned the bedrooms: Herbert and Startop were to occupy one; I and ou_harge the other. We found the air as carefully excluded from both, as if ai_ere fatal to life; and there were more dirty clothes and bandboxes under th_eds than I should have thought the family possessed. But we considere_urselves well off, notwithstanding, for a more solitary place we could no_ave found.
  • While we were comforting ourselves by the fire after our meal, the Jack—wh_as sitting in a corner, and who had a bloated pair of shoes on, which he ha_xhibited while we were eating our eggs and bacon, as interesting relics tha_e had taken a few days ago from the feet of a drowned seaman washe_shore—asked me if we had seen a four-oared galley going up with the tide?
  • When I told him No, he said she must have gone down then, and yet she “took u_oo,” when she left there.
  • “They must ha’ thought better on’t for some reason or another,” said the Jack, “and gone down.”
  • “A four-oared galley, did you say?” said I.
  • “A four,” said the Jack, “and two sitters.”
  • “Did they come ashore here?”
  • “They put in with a stone two-gallon jar for some beer. I’d ha’ been glad t_ison the beer myself,” said the Jack, “or put some rattling physic in it.”
  • “Why?”
  • “I know why,” said the Jack. He spoke in a slushy voice, as if much mud ha_ashed into his throat.
  • “He thinks,” said the landlord, a weakly meditative man with a pale eye, wh_eemed to rely greatly on his Jack,—“he thinks they was, what they wasn’t.”
  • “I knows what I thinks,” observed the Jack.
  • “You thinks Custum ‘Us, Jack?” said the landlord.
  • “I do,” said the Jack.
  • “Then you’re wrong, Jack.”
  • “am I!”
  • In the infinite meaning of his reply and his boundless confidence in hi_iews, the Jack took one of his bloated shoes off, looked into it, knocked _ew stones out of it on the kitchen floor, and put it on again. He did thi_ith the air of a Jack who was so right that he could afford to do anything.
  • “Why, what do you make out that they done with their buttons then, Jack?” asked the landlord, vacillating weakly.
  • “Done with their buttons?” returned the Jack. “Chucked ’em overboard.
  • Swallered ’em. Sowed ’em, to come up small salad. Done with their buttons!”
  • “Don’t be cheeky, Jack,” remonstrated the landlord, in a melancholy an_athetic way.
  • “A Custum ‘Us officer knows what to do with his Buttons,” said the Jack, repeating the obnoxious word with the greatest contempt, “when they come_etwixt him and his own light. A four and two sitters don’t go hanging an_overing, up with one tide and down with another, and both with and agains_nother, without there being Custum ‘Us at the bottom of it.” Saying which h_ent out in disdain; and the landlord, having no one to reply upon, found i_mpracticable to pursue the subject.
  • This dialogue made us all uneasy, and me very uneasy. The dismal wind wa_uttering round the house, the tide was flapping at the shore, and I had _eeling that we were caged and threatened. A four-oared galley hovering abou_n so unusual a way as to attract this notice was an ugly circumstance that _ould not get rid of. When I had induced Provis to go up to bed, I wen_utside with my two companions (Startop by this time knew the state of th_ase), and held another council. Whether we should remain at the house unti_ear the steamer’s time, which would be about one in the afternoon, or whethe_e should put off early in the morning, was the question we discussed. On th_hole we deemed it the better course to lie where we were, until within a_our or so of the steamer’s time, and then to get out in her track, and drif_asily with the tide. Having settled to do this, we returned into the hous_nd went to bed.
  • I lay down with the greater part of my clothes on, and slept well for a fe_ours. When I awoke, the wind had risen, and the sign of the house (the Ship) was creaking and banging about, with noises that startled me. Rising softly, for my charge lay fast asleep, I looked out of the window. It commanded th_auseway where we had hauled up our boat, and, as my eyes adapted themselve_o the light of the clouded moon, I saw two men looking into her. They passe_y under the window, looking at nothing else, and they did not go down to th_anding-place which I could discern to be empty, but struck across the mars_n the direction of the Nore.
  • My first impulse was to call up Herbert, and show him the two men going away.
  • But reflecting, before I got into his room, which was at the back of the hous_nd adjoined mine, that he and Startop had had a harder day than I, and wer_atigued, I forbore. Going back to my window, I could see the two men movin_ver the marsh. In that light, however, I soon lost them, and, feeling ver_old, lay down to think of the matter, and fell asleep again.
  • We were up early. As we walked to and fro, all four together, befor_reakfast, I deemed it right to recount what I had seen. Again our charge wa_he least anxious of the party. It was very likely that the men belonged t_he Custom House, he said quietly, and that they had no thought of us. I trie_o persuade myself that it was so,—as, indeed, it might easily be. However, _roposed that he and I should walk away together to a distant point we coul_ee, and that the boat should take us aboard there, or as near there as migh_rove feasible, at about noon. This being considered a good precaution, soo_fter breakfast he and I set forth, without saying anything at the tavern.
  • He smoked his pipe as we went along, and sometimes stopped to clap me on th_houlder. One would have supposed that it was I who was in danger, not he, an_hat he was reassuring me. We spoke very
  • little. As we approached the point, I begged him to remain in a sheltere_lace, while I went on to reconnoitre; for it was towards it that the men ha_assed in the night. He complied, and I went on alone. There was no boat of_he point, nor any boat drawn up anywhere near it, nor were there any signs o_he men having embarked there. But, to be sure, the tide was high, and ther_ight have been some footpints under water.
  • When he looked out from his shelter in the distance, and saw that I waved m_at to him to come up, he rejoined me, and there we waited; sometimes lying o_he bank, wrapped in our coats, and sometimes moving about to warm ourselves, until we saw our boat coming round. We got aboard easily, and rowed out int_he track of the steamer. By that time it wanted but ten minutes of on_’clock, and we began to look out for her smoke.
  • But, it was half-past one before we saw her smoke, and soon afterwards we sa_ehind it the smoke of another steamer. As they were coming on at full speed, we got the two bags ready, and took that opportunity of saying good by t_erbert and Startop. We had all shaken hands cordially, and neither Herbert’_yes nor mine were quite dry, when I saw a four-oared galley shoot out fro_nder the bank but a little way ahead of us, and row out into the same track.
  • A stretch of shore had been as yet between us and the steamer’s smoke, b_eason of the bend and wind of the river; but now she was visible, coming hea_n. I called to Herbert and Startop to keep before the tide, that she migh_ee us lying by for her, and I adjured Provis to sit quite still, wrapped i_is cloak. He answered cheerily, “Trust to me, dear boy,” and sat like _tatue. Meantime the galley, which was very skilfully handled, had crossed us, let us come up with her, and fallen alongside. Leaving just room enough fo_he play of the oars, she kept alongside, drifting when we drifted, an_ulling a stroke or two when we pulled. Of the two sitters one held th_udder-lines, and looked at us attentively, —as did all the rowers; the othe_itter was wrapped up, much as Provis was, and seemed to shrink, and whispe_ome instruction to the steerer as he looked at us. Not a word was spoken i_ither boat.
  • Startop could make out, after a few minutes, which steamer was first, and gav_e the word “Hamburg,” in a low voice, as we sat face to face. She was nearin_s very fast, and the beating of her peddles grew louder and louder. I felt a_f her shadow were absolutely upon us, when the galley hailed us. I answered.
  • “You have a returned Transport there,” said the man who held the lines.
  • “That’s the man, wrapped in the cloak. His name is Abel Magwitch, otherwis_rovis. I apprehend that man, and call upon him to surrender, and you t_ssist.”
  • At the same moment, without giving any audible direction to his crew, he ra_he galley abroad of us. They had pulled one sudden stroke ahead, had go_heir oars in, had run athwart us, and were holding on to our gunwale, befor_e knew what they were doing. This caused great confusion on board th_teamer, and I heard them calling to us, and heard the order given to stop th_addles, and heard them stop, but felt her driving down upon us irresistibly.
  • In the same moment, I saw the steersman of the galley lay his hand on hi_risoner’s shoulder, and saw that both boats were swinging round with th_orce of the tide, and saw that all hands on board the steamer were runnin_orward quite frantically. Still, in the same moment, I saw the prisoner star_p, lean across his captor, and pull the cloak from the neck of the shrinkin_itter in the galley. Still in the same moment, I saw that the face disclosed, was the face of the other convict of long ago. Still, in the same moment, _aw the face tilt backward with a white terror on it that I shall neve_orget, and heard a great cry on board the steamer, and a loud splash in th_ater, and felt the boat sink from under me.
  • It was but for an instant that I seemed to struggle with a thousand mill-weir_nd a thousand flashes of light; that instant past, I was taken on board th_alley. Herbert was there, and Startop was there; but our boat was gone, an_he two convicts were gone.
  • What with the cries aboard the steamer, and the furious blowing off of he_team, and her driving on, and our driving on, I could not at firs_istinguish sky from water or shore from shore; but the crew of the galle_ighted her with great speed, and, pulling certain swift strong strokes ahead, lay upon their oars, every man looking silently and eagerly at the wate_stern. Presently a dark object was seen in it, bearing towards us on th_ide. No man spoke, but the steersman held up his hand, and all softly backe_ater, and kept the boat straight and true before it. As it came nearer, I sa_t to be Magwitch, swimming, but not swimming freely. He was taken on board, and instantly manacled at the wrists and ankles.
  • The galley was kept steady, and the silent, eager look-out at the water wa_esumed. But, the Rotterdam steamer now came up, and apparently no_nderstanding what had happened, came on at speed. By the time she had bee_ailed and stopped, both steamers were drifting away from us, and we wer_ising and falling in a troubled wake of water. The look-out was kept, lon_fter all was still again and the two steamers were gone; but everybody kne_hat it was hopeless now.
  • At length we gave it up, and pulled under the shore towards the tavern we ha_ately left, where we were received with no little surprise. Here I was abl_o get some comforts for Magwitch,— Provis no longer,—who had received som_ery severe injury in the Chest, and a deep cut in the head.
  • He told me that he believed himself to have gone under the keel of th_teamer, and to have been struck on the head in rising. The injury to hi_hest (which rendered his breathing extremely painful) he thought he ha_eceived against the side of the galley. He added that he did not pretend t_ay what he might or might not have done to Compeyson, but that, in the momen_f his laying his hand on his cloak to identify him, that villain ha_taggered up and staggered back, and they had both gone overboard together, when the sudden wrenching of him (Magwitch) out of our boat, and the endeavo_f his captor to keep him in it, had capsized us. He told me in a whisper tha_hey had gone down fiercely locked in each other’s arms, and that there ha_een a struggle under water, and that he had disengaged himself, struck out, and swum away.
  • I never had any reason to doubt the exact truth of what he thus told me. Th_fficer who steered the galley gave the same account of their going overboard.
  • When I asked this officer’s permission to change the prisoner’s wet clothes b_urchasing any spare garments I could get at the public-house, he gave i_eadily: merely observing that he must take charge of everything his prisone_ad about him. So the pocket-book which had once been in my hands passed int_he officer’s. He further gave me leave to accompany the prisoner to London; but declined to accord that grace to my two friends.
  • The Jack at the Ship was instructed where the drowned man had gone down, an_ndertook to search for the body in the places where it was likeliest to com_shore. His interest in its recovery seemed to me to be much heightened whe_e heard that it had stockings on. Probably, it took about a dozen drowned me_o fit him out completely; and that may have been the reason why the differen_rticles of his dress were in various stages of decay.
  • We remained at the public-house until the tide turned, and then Magwitch wa_arried down to the galley and put on board. Herbert and Startop were to ge_o London by land, as soon as they could. We had a doleful parting, and when _ook my place by Magwitch’s side, I felt that that was my place hencefort_hile he lived.
  • For now, my repugnance to him had all melted away; and in the Hunted, wounded, shackled creature who held my hand in his, I only saw a man who had meant t_e my benefactor, and who had felt affectionately, gratefully, and generously, towards me with great constancy through a series of years. I only saw in him _uch better man than I had been to Joe.
  • His breathing became more difficult and painful as the night drew on, an_ften he could not repress a groan. I tried to rest him on the arm I coul_se, in any easy position; but it was dreadful to think that I could not b_orry at heart for his being badly hurt, since it was unquestionably best tha_e should die. That there were, still living, people enough who were able an_illing to identify him, I could not doubt. That he would be lenientl_reated, I could not hope. He who had been presented in the worst light at hi_rial, who had since broken prison and had been tried again, who had returne_rom transportation under a life sentence, and who had occasioned the death o_he man who was the cause of his arrest.
  • As we returned towards the setting sun we had yesterday left behind us, and a_he stream of our hopes seemed all running back, I told him how grieved I wa_o think that he had come home for my sake.
  • “Dear boy,” he answered, “I’m quite content to take my chance. I’ve seen m_oy, and he can be a gentleman without me.”
  • No. I had thought about that, while we had been there side by side. No. Apar_rom any inclinations of my own, I understood Wemmick’s hint now. I foresa_hat, being convicted, his possessions would be forfeited to the Crown.
  • “Lookee here, dear boy,” said he “It’s best as a gentleman should not b_nowed to belong to me now. Only come to see me as if you come by chanc_longer Wemmick. Sit where I can see you when I am swore to, for the last o’ many times, and I don’t ask no more.”
  • “I will never stir from your side,” said I, “when I am suffered to be nea_ou. Please God, I will be as true to you as you have been to me!”
  • I felt his hand tremble as it held mine, and he turned his face away as he la_n the bottom of the boat, and I heard that old sound in his throat,—softene_ow, like all the rest of him. It was a good thing that he had touched thi_oint, for it put into my mind what I might not otherwise have thought o_ntil too late,— that he need never know how his hopes of enriching me ha_erished.