Spring-Heel'd Jack, The Terror of London — page 242: what you’re looking at

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

' A I CT et tite em SS ee ee ee a ee am mm a ee ce ee me ee ee 244 a eee see ee _ } “Oh, lor’! ” ‘He made me turn back to pick up a chap I wouldn’t let ride. But he won’t hurt us if we do.as he wants us to,” said Roger. “Oh! I won’t come with the waggon again—I won't,” said Jem. © “No more will I. he'll hear you.” “Tm not deaf, my friends.” Both boy and man uttered a loud ery, and turned quickly. There stood Jadl behind them, The boy sprang to the hedge, and Roger stag- gered along till his horse's head would not allow him to go further. : ‘““Come, urge your team to a quicker speed,” said Jack; ‘‘for I must see this unfortunate youth sately ensconced in your vehicle before we part.” | The waggoner urged on his horses, and the rumbling vehicle went along quickly, rolling and jolting loudly in its course. Jack kept a look-out for the young man, and, in a short time, he perceived his attenuated form reclining in a sitting position against the hedge. | “ Halt!” said Jack. The waggoner brought his team to a stand right opposite the young man. “Look at him,” said Jack. ‘ Are you not ashamed to possess the heart that could refuse assistance to one so ill and wretched ? Does not your conscience smite you for using violence to one so powerless to defend himself? For shame! If you would atone for your utter want of feeling, raise him gently and lay him tenderly in your waggon, lielp him on his road, and freely extend to him all the aid in your power when he reaches the metropolis ; and, above all, remember, that dark clouds at limes obscure the brighter skies—affluence smiles to penury—health gives place to disease —plenty, to want. Your turn may come some day to need assistance such as he does now. But don’t talk so loud, or Turn not, then, from another, when it is in your power to aid him, lest he, in time, turn upon you. A kind word and a good act cost nothing, whilst it gratifies the heart with the knowledge that it has done right. Now, lift him up.” The boy let down the tailboard of the waggon, and Roger, taking up the youth in his strong arms, laid him gently on the straw. In a minute more the heads of the team were turned towards London, and the yokels looked round for Jack, but he was nowhere to be seen. CHAPTER LXXXIV. THE DYING WOMAN—THE CONFESSION. In a wretched apartment of a wretched-looking house, situated im a narrow court in the neigh- bourhood of St. Giles’s, upon a wretched pallet in one corner, reclined the attenuated form of a) must—I will. woman of about fifty years of age. SPRING-HEEL’D JACK : THE TERROR OF LONDON. table, a broken washstand and a small box was all the room contained, save the thin, small flock bed which rested on the floor, and on which the woman reclined, covered by an old blanket and dirty patchwork quilt. The head of the suffermg woman lay almost flat with the bed, for a thin bolster alone propped itup. Her scant grey locks fell over a face pinched with long want and suffering, and an almost fleshless arm lay upon the coverlid, while her lustreless eyes were fixed, with a longing stare, upon the door of the apartment. “ Another night has gone,” she said, “and yet he comes not. No—no. I can’t leave this world till he comes, and I tell him all,—how I have deceived him— how I have wronged him and his sister. Will he curse me, or will he forgive me? No, I dare not hope it. But why does he not come—why ~ does he stay, and he knows I am dying? Oh, God! let me live till he comes; let me make atonement for my great sin ; then—then, with his bitterest, direst curses ringing in mine ears, I can go from this world happy. Happy, did I say ? Happy? Ha! ha! ha! I have not known happiness for years, long, long years, Never shall, never shall! for after death comes punish- ment, as if I had not suffered enough in this world for what I have done! But let me not think of that now. Let me only think of him and his sister. Would I knew where she was! whether she be living or dead. Will he never come—never! and the secret die with me, and that villain still possess his wealth? No, uo. Great God! save me till he come—for he will come yet—he will come ! ” The head which had been raised, while she thus muttered in low, weak tones, fell back on the low pillow, and the lids dropped over the lustreless eyes, while a spasm seemed to shoot through her frame, and a look of intense pain crowned her features, | For a time she appeared to slumber, then up she sprang, wildly, in the bed, and clasping her thin hands together, rocked her body to and fro. ‘Richard! Richard! will you never come? Oh! will you never come? And ghall the un- grateful libertine still keep from you your wealth and station? Oh! how quickly the hours roll away ! Three days gone—three! and yet he does not hurry to my bedside. Fool! he knows not what I have to tell him. No, no, I will not call him fool — poor, deceived boy! ee can detain him—what can keep him from me mother. He must be ill, or he would have been here long ere this. I cannot last much longer. Death’s icy fingers are upon my brow, and I am going fast—fast—to answer for my great and wicked sin. Oh! how I tremble lest he sans too Jate. I had died ere now, had he been 1ere. But can [ hold out much longer ? Can I battle longer with the grim phantom ?, But 1 He-shall know all—all ! ” Exhausted, she again sank back in the bed, The dim morning light, as it foreed its way and the hollow cough that shook the clothes through the dirty panes of glass in the small | above her form spoke but too plainly how near window, revealed the miserable objects scattered | she was to the grave, about the apartment, Three old rush-bottomed chairs, a small deal} of the w But the sun-ray that stole in at the top pane | —— ¢€gmicboo Must I die without seeing him ? He loves me as if I were indeed his — » : - ’ > an ps vw ‘ indow crept down to the second square | i |