"Did I go home when I had done? And oh, my God! how long it tookto do! Did I stand before my wife, and tell her? Did I see herfall upon the ground; and, when I stooped to raise her, did shethrust me back with a force that cast me off as if I had been achild, staining the hand with which she clasped my wrist? Is THATfancy?
"Did she go down upon her knees, and call on Heaven to witness thatshe and her unborn child renounced me from that hour; and did she,in words so solemn that they turned me cold--me, fresh from thehorrors my own hands had made--warn me to fly while there was time;for though she would be silent, being my wretched wife, she wouldnot shelter me? Did I go forth that night, abjured of God and man,and anchored deep in hell, to wander at my cable"s length about theearth, and surely be drawn down at last?"
"Why did you return? said the blind man.
"Why is blood red? I could no more help it, than I could livewithout breath. I struggled against the impulse, but I was drawnback, through every difficult and adverse circumstance, as by amighty engine. Nothing could stop me. The day and hour were noneof my choice. Sleeping and waking, I had been among the old hauntsfor years--had visited my own grave. Why did I come back? Becausethis jail was gaping for me, and he stood beckoning at the door."
"You were not known?" said the blind man.
"I was a man who had been twenty-two years dead. No. I was notknown."
"You should have kept your secret better."
"MY secret? MINE? It was a secret, any breath of air couldwhisper at its will. The stars had it in their twinkling, thewater in its flowing, the leaves in their rustling, the seasons intheir return. It lurked in strangers" faces, and their voices.
Everything had lips on which it always trembled.--MY secret!"
"It was revealed by your own act at any rate," said the blind man.
"The act was not mine. I did it, but it was not mine. I wasforced at times to wander round, and round, and round that spot.
If you had chained me up when the fit was on me, I should havebroken away, and gone there. As truly as the loadstone draws irontowards it, so he, lying at the bottom of his grave, could draw menear him when he would. Was that fancy? Did I like to go there,or did I strive and wrestle with the power that forced me?"
The blind man shrugged his shoulders, and smiled incredulously.
The prisoner again resumed his old attitude, and for a long timeboth were mute.
"I suppose then," said his visitor, at length breaking silence,"that you are penitent and resigned; that you desire to make peacewith everybody (in particular, with your wife who has brought youto this); and that you ask no greater favour than to be carried toTyburn as soon as possible? That being the case, I had better takemy leave. I am not good enough to be company for you."
"Have I not told you," said the other fiercely, "that I havestriven and wrestled with the power that brought me here? Has mywhole life, for eight-and-twenty years, been one perpetualstruggle and resistance, and do you think I want to lie down anddie? Do all men shrink from death--I most of all!"
"That"s better said. That"s better spoken, Rudge--but I"ll notcall you that again--than anything you have said yet," returned theblind man, speaking more familiarly, and laying his hands upon hisarm. "Lookye,--I never killed a man myself, for I have never beenplaced in a position that made it worth my while. Farther, I amnot an advocate for killing men, and I don"t think I shouldrecommend it or like it--for it"s very hazardous--under anycircumstances. But as you had the misfortune to get into thistrouble before I made your acquaintance, and as you have been mycompanion, and have been of use to me for a long time now, Ioverlook that part of the matter, and am only anxious that youshouldn"t die unnecessarily. Now, I do not consider that, atpresent, it is at all necessary."
"What else is left me?" returned the prisoner. "To eat my waythrough these walls with my teeth?"
"Something easier than that," returned his friend. "Promise methat you will talk no more of these fancies of yours--idle, foolishthings, quite beneath a man--and I"ll tell you what I mean."
"Tell me," said the other.
"Your worthy lady with the tender conscience; your scrupulous,virtuous, punctilious, but not blindly affectionate wife--"
"What of her?"
"Is now in London."
"A curse upon her, be she where she may!"
"That"s natural enough. If she had taken her annuity as usual, youwould not have been here, and we should have been better off. Butthat"s apart from the business. She"s in London. Scared, as Isuppose, and have no doubt, by my representation when I waited uponher, that you were close at hand (which I, of course, urged only asan inducement to compliance, knowing that she was not pining to seeyou), she left that place, and travelled up to London."
"How do you know?"
"From my friend the noble captain--the illustrious general--thebladder, Mr Tappertit. I learnt from him the last time I saw him,which was yesterday, that your son who is called Barnaby--not afterhis father, I suppose--"
"Death! does that matter now!"
"--You are impatient," said the blind man, calmly; "it"s a goodsign, and looks like life--that your son Barnaby had been luredaway from her by one of his companions who knew him of old, atChigwell; and that he is now among the rioters."
"And what is that to me? If father and son be hanged together,what comfort shall I find in that?"