The Young Apprentice; or, The Watch-Words of Old London — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

7 ne vy ay ‘i ” THE WATCHWORDS OF OLD LONDON. 39 a Ou passing the end of the narrow turning, which led down to the Thames, and at the ex- tremc of which stood the old house where he had first seen his benefactor, and saved him from the assassin’s knife, he beheld a light moving about from window to window. Impelled not only by curiosity, but also by an instinctive feeling that something unusual, and, perhaps terrible, was going on, he passed down the lane and approached the dilapidated man- sion. All was still. The light he had seen moving was now ata- tionary. The gleam of it went shimmering over the rippling bosom of the silver Thames, disappear- ing at last, as it were, in one bright spot. Harold listened. There was no sound. Impelled by a natural curiosity he approached nearer, Then he heard the low murmuring of voices. He listened eagerly. In one voice he recognised that of his bene- factor, The second was that of a stranger. The words they spoke were evidently spoken in frieudshbip, for neither voice was raised, and in fact, the one whom he knew only as “The Man withont a Name,” seemed to be giving in- structions to his companion. He was near the margin of the river, as he listened, and he gazed again and again af its dark bosom with feelings akin to affection. It was there he had first known what it was to have life. His mother—whoever that sainted being might be—had set him afloat as if were upon that great stream. There he had picked up friends—there he had gathered the scraps and trifles which had served to cecure to him his subsiatence. It was almost with a feeling of regret that he gazed at it. Involved now as he was in the very heart of a terrible mystery, the feeling was scarcely to be wondered at. He had been a king there. Among the river boys—the mud-larks of those long-faded days—he had been a king. Found, as I have said, by accident ; fed from necessity, he had been early driven to seek com- panionship among the scum of London youth, and among that scum he had found many brave and generous hearts. Now he had few friende—whom ? Ettie Leslie, whom he loved, at a distance. The armonrer, whom he feared and mistrusted. For enemies he had abundance of pcrsons both high and low. Suddenly, as these thoughts were rushing through his mind, there was the ripple and the rush of a boat on the shore, and some one splashed up to the side of the Young Appren- tice. He started in surprise. For an instant in the dark night “he did not recognise his companion. He was a lad about sixteen, apparently, but the matted hair on his head, and the equallor of his cheeks, and the general style of his dreas, was such as to preclude any guess at his age. Harold, however, knew the voice. 3 It came to him like the recollections of old ays, : “Ab! Rupert; it is you. I remember you well now,” said be. ‘ How came you here?” The boy laughed. “TI was rowing down stream and saw you,” said he, “so I thought I'd look up. Where are you, and what are you doing ?”’ “I am at Leslie’s, the armourer’s, in the Strand,” said Harold. ‘TI told you ere I left the vaults, that I was going there, do you not remember 7?” “Ah, yes; but I never believed you.” ‘Why not?” . *‘ Because I never thought any such good luck could come to any of us.” “ Well, it has ; but tell me, what cheer have you? How are you thriving ?” “ Pretty much the same; in fact, better, for we pick up strange and unexpected things, J can tell you.” “ What are they ?” “Well,” said Rupert Changeling—he was called so because no one knew his name—“ well, the truth is, we flad them on dead bodiea.” ‘© Dead bodies |!” ‘‘ Yes ; flung over into the river. There was one flung over last night near Master Leslie’s place.” Harold shuddered. He had seen this murder! The boy evidently told the truth, and these midnight sssassinationa were of frequent oo- currence, “ T saw that deed done,”’ said Harold; “ but, tell me, do you often see such things ?”’ ‘Searce a night passes but what we behold, one or the other of us, a body flung from a win. dow or from the parapet of a bridge ; and nearly always the same form ig beside them ere they fall—a tall, gigantic man, in a long cloak and a plumed hat,” Again the Young Apprenties shivered from head to foot. It was of the armourer that the river boy spoke ! Harold thought a moment. “Rupert,” he said, after a few minutes, “ Rupert, can you do me a sevice ?”” “J will if I can." “To-night, if such an event occars, let the one of your number who sees the hideous deed performed follow the assassin, See where he goes to, and, I have no doubt, a handsome re- ward will be yours,’ “YT will tell the boys so,” replied the river lad ; “they'll be glad to do anything for you, Harold. But,” he added, in a lower voice, “I must ask you one question,” “ What is that ?’ “ Are you a sworn apprentice?” — . ‘‘Tam an apprentice. I do not understan you.” ‘Don't you know me?” asked the new comer. 2) It was certainly not surprising if he did not. (> a” } m\s> Ce GOES O16S “Do you belong to the society ?” ‘‘T do not,” CO