Black Bess; or, the Knight of the Road — page 49: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

- by i - es “It is bad, captain,” said the jailer, shaking his head —‘“very bad. I hope you will soon be better. You want - some intelligence of your friends, and if it is to be pro- — cured, I will obtain it.” F _ “I know you will,” said Dick, shaking him by ¢ha 7 hand. ‘I shall always be deeply indebted to you.” Ms ‘No, no; quite the reverse.” “ But I say yes.” ‘ A few more unimportant words were exchanged, and then the jailer again !eft, promising to pay another visit as soon as he should be successful in getting leave of absence. He had not been absent more than five minutes hsfora the door was again opened. : “‘ Another intrusion!” thought Dick, this time growing ' angry in earnest. He glanced towards the doorway. He saw that it was the Ordinary, wh®& was attired in full canonicals, and carried a couple of books under hi¢ arm. “Unhappy man,” he said, in a whining tone, and with his eyes so turned up to the ceiling of the cell that only the whites were visible—‘‘ unhappy man, I ave come to pass a few hours with you in meditation and prayer !” “Thank you,” said Dick. ‘Iam much obliged to you, but I prefer to be alone.” ‘A hardened sinner,” said the Ordinary, with a grin— “a hardened sinner, yet he may be converted to the ways of grace.” - “It strikes me,” replied Dick, ‘‘that Iam by no means so bad as you imagine; but I think that a man in my posi- tion should, at least, have a few little privileges accorded to him, and one of them should be that he should please himself whether he remained alone, 9r whether he was intruded upon.” ““Worse and worse!” said the chaplain. ‘Do you know, unhappy man, tliat in twelve hours from this you will be standing on the brink of eternity ?” “TI do not know it,” said Dick, firmly. “‘ Well, then, it is my unhappy duty to inform you of it. In twelve hours, at the most, you will be no more.” “It’s a mistake,” said Dick—‘“ quite a mistake.” “No, I assure you it is not. Every preparation has been made by the officials connected with the prison. Your execution is appointed to take place at noon to- morrow, and, therefore, I have come to prepare you for your approaching inevitable fate.” “T am much obliged to you for your kindness,” replied Dick, “but believe me when I say that it is quite un- necessary.” “ Unnecessary ?” “Yes. Do not misunderstan@ me; you are labouring under a great mistake. I shall not be executed to- morrow, and therefore I stand in no need of your spiritual consolation and preparation.” “Tt is a vain hope,” said the Ordinary—“ a vain, delu- sive hope, and let me entreat you to cast it from you.” “Tt is a hope that will be realised,” said Dick, “ and therefore let me entreat you to grant me the poor favour aN of leaving me by myself for a short time.” s “J will,” said the chaplain, ‘“ but only for a short time. | I trust reflection will soon assert its sway—then I will | return. May your heat be softened, and may you be ; brought to a proper knowledge of your position !” Dick was silent, for he wished the reverend gentleman - to leave at once. He did so. The turnkeys opened tre door, and Dick was on.e more left alone. His uneasiness had now reached a fearfu’ mitch. He paced restlessly up and down his ceX. “Can It be,” he muttered to himseit—“ ene ts ta that everything has gone wrong, and that I am doomed 4} last to perish? No, no, I will not think that—not even whez the cap is drawn over my face and the noose adjusted round my neck; even then I will»not despair, but place faith in the exertions of my comrades.” - In spite of this, however, Dick felt that it would be no __ trifling relief could he but be freed from his present state of suspense. He could tell that the day was gradually drawing In and that night was approaching. Yet he saw nothing of the friendly jailer; in fact, it was not until the interior of the cell was quite dark— ™~ THE KNIGHT OF THE ROAD just, indeed, about the same time when the highwaymen were setting out from the inn—that the door was once agnin opened, and Dick’s eyes va gladdened by the sight of his friend. But there was no hope or encouragement to be gleaned from the expression of his countenance. “You have bad news,” said Dick. ‘Come, speak out at once—the sooner it is over the better.” “Not bad news,” said the man, *‘ without you call nv news bal news.” ** Well, speak—do not keep me waiting.” “Well, captain, I have just come back from Drury Lane. I have seen old Matthew.” ** And what does he say ?” “He says but little. He is in a state of great uneasi ness. He is afraid something has gone wrong some- where, and did not hesitate to say 1.” ‘‘ He has not seen or heard from Davis $* “ Not a word of any kind.” *‘ How strange!” “That is what he says. He calls it very strange—in fact, is unable to account forit. Had all gone well, you should by this time have been set at liberty.” ‘‘ And what is his advice ?” ‘He said he was unable to offer any, except that, if he stood in your position, he should trust to no one but him- self.” “He means, endeavour to escape ?” Yes’ “But how short is the time!” said Dick. earthly chance have I?” The jailer shrugged his shoulders. A very poor chance, I am afraid, captain, for I can assure you that never since this prison has been built has there been such close and observant guard kept all around it.. The men are all on the alert, and it would be totally impossible for any person to leave Newgate at any point unseen. How you are to escape under these circum- stances passes my comprehension.” ‘6 Well, well,” said Dick, ‘leave me—I should like to be alone, and to think over my position as best I may.” “Then I will go, captain. Are you sure you want nothing ?” “ Nothing whatever.” With a glance, plainly of pity and regrct, the turnkey left the cell. As soon as he had departed, Dick sank down upon the chair, and, clasping his hands over his face, began to think. “ What has gone wrong?” he murmured—" what can have happened? How unfortunate it is that I should be left thus in the dark, and Newgate so closely guarded, and the time so short! Well, well—at all events, it will be perfectly useless for me to attempt an escape. Had I the means and the time, it would be equally useless, for now I have heard how Newgate is watched, from such good authority, I cannot doubt it, nor could I hope to leave it unperceived.” He was silent, giving up himself to gloomy thought. His mind was principally occupied in thinking of Maud. It was by no means difficult for him to picture her friendless.and forlorn situation, and the reflection that he had been the means of bringing her into it by no means increased his cheerfulness. Then, with a slow and solemn note, he heard the clock of St. Paul’s Cathedral give forth the hour of ten. How fearfully close the time appointed for is exocution seemed to be. f To one thing, however, he had quite made up his mind, which was that it was impossible for him to escape, there- fore he made no effort, but continued to sit in the same attitude upon the chair. Eleven o’clock sounded, and found him sill in the same positio u Any sne gazing upon him would have found some diffi- culty iu saying for certain whether he qvas sleeping or waking--to all appearances, however, he was completely blind and deaf to all that was going on around him. He did not even raise his head when the struck. Another hour passed. Then niuidnight came. : The twelve strokes were given forth by all the various “ What clock EORMIC <SiGO | @ JOO