"I know the danger better than you do," I answered, "and I will not leave you."

"That man who burst into the house just now, he seemed to know you," she said, after a moment's pause. "Who is he?"

"A fellow jail-bird of mine," I answered bitterly.

"Then go to him," she said. "Are you so dense that you don't understand what I think of you, you thing without a name! Will nothing move you?"

"Nothing, until I know that you are safe," I answered.

There was a light cane lying on the table with Harvey Scoffold's hat and gloves. In a very fury of pa.s.sion she suddenly dropped her hand upon it, and caught it up. I know that my face turned darkly red as I saw what her intention was; but I did not flinch. She struck me full across the face with it, crying as she did so, "Now go!" dropped the cane, and burst into tears at the same moment. I could bear no more; I turned about, and walked out of the room, and out of the house. I did not seem to remember anything until I found myself walking at a great rate under the stars, down towards London.

My feelings then I will not attempt to describe. I seemed to be more utterly lost than ever; the sorry comedy was played out, and I walked utterly friendless and alone, caring nothing what became of me. If I remembered that Debora stood in peril of her life, and had but small chance of escape from some horrible death, I tried to thrust that thought away from me; for the blow she had struck me seemed to have cut deep into my soul. Of all the homeless wretches under the stars that night, surely I was the one most to be pitied!

I found myself after a time on Hampstead Heath, and lay down there in a quiet spot under the trees, and stared up at the stars, wondering a little, perhaps, why Fate had dealt so hardly with me, and had never given me a real chance. I remembered my unhappy boyhood, and my long years of drudgery in my uncle's house; I remembered with bitterness that now to-night I was a creature with no name and no place in the world, with no hopes and no ambitions. Tears of self-pity sprung to my eyes as I lay there in the darkness, wondering what the day was to bring me.

I had a few shillings in my pocket, and when I knew the dawn was coming I started off down into London, in the hope to lose myself and my miseries in the crowded streets. But there I found that apparently everyone had some business to be engaged upon; everyone was hurrying hither and thither, far too busy to take note of me or of my downcast face. The mere instinct to live kept me clear of the traffic, or I must have been run over a hundred times in the day, so little did I trouble where I walked, or what became of me. When my body craved for food I went into an eating-house, and sat shoulder to shoulder with other men, who little suspected who I was, or what was my strange story. But then everyone against whom one rubs shoulders in a great city must have some strange story of their own to tell, if they cared to say what it was.

I spent the long day in the streets; but at night a curious fascination drew me across Hampstead Heath, and so in the direction of the cottage in which Harvey Scoffold lived. I had no hope of seeing the girl; I only felt it would be some poor satisfaction to me to see the house in which she was; perhaps my very presence there might serve in some vague way to shield her from harm; for by this time I had come to the conclusion that Scoffold was as much her enemy and mine as anyone else by whom she was surrounded.

I wandered about unhappily there for more than an hour; I was just turning away, when the old woman I had seen on the previous night came out of the door of the cottage, and advanced down the garden to the little gate in the fence. I think a cat must have got astray; for she called to some animal fretfully more than once. She was just turning away again, when I ventured to step up to the gate.

"I hope the young lady is quite well?" I said, in a low tone.

She looked at me curiously; looked especially, I thought, at the long livid weal across my face. "Ah! I remember you now, sir," she said; "I didn't recognise you for a moment. But, bless you, sir, they've all gone away."

"Gone away?" I echoed.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Scoffold and the young lady went off early this morning, sir; Mr. Scoffold said that letters were to be addressed to him at the house of Dr. Bardolph Just. I've got the address inside, sir, if you should want it."

I told her I did not want it, and I turned away abruptly. I could not understand the position at all; I wondered how Harvey Scoffold had persuaded her to go back to that house, and to the man she so much dreaded. I saw how badly I had blundered in the matter, and how I had done the very thing I had striven not to do. She would trust Harvey Scoffold; she would believe in his honesty, as I had believed in it; and I was convinced now that he was working hand in glove with Bardolph Just. I stood out there in the darkness, cursing myself, and the world, and everyone, with the solitary exception of Debora Matchwick.

On one point I was resolute; I would go on to the house of the doctor, and would be near at hand in case the girl wanted me. It was a mad idea, and I now recognise it as such; but at the time it seemed that I might be able to do some good. I set off at once, tired out as I was, for Bardolph Just's house.

It was not yet late, and the house was still lighted up when at last I came to it. I opened the gate in the wall noiselessly, and went in; crept forward among the trees, until I was quite near to the house. I think I had a sort of vague idea that I would get in somehow, and confront the doctor; for, after all, nothing much worse could happen to me than had already befallen me. While I waited irresolutely in the grounds, a door opened at one side of the house, letting out a little flood of light for a moment; then the door was closed again, and I saw a figure coming swiftly towards me through the trees. I drew back behind one of the trees, and watched; presently the figure pa.s.sed so close to me, going steadily in the direction of the gate, that I could see the face clearly. It was Martha Leach, habited for a journey.

There was such a grim, set purpose in the face that, after she had gone a yard or two, I turned on an instinct and followed her. I heard the latch of the gate click, as she went out, closing the gate after her; unfortunately it clicked again a moment or two later, when I in turn pa.s.sed out in her wake. I flattened myself against the wall, because Martha Leach had stopped in the road, and had looked back. Fortunately for me she did not return; after a momentary pause she went on again rapidly, taking a northern direction.

Now, by all the laws of the game I ought to have returned to the house to keep my vigil there; for what earthly purpose could I hope to serve in chasing this woman about the northern suburbs of London, at something near to nine o'clock on a summer's evening? But I felt impelled to go on after her; and my heart sank a little when presently I saw her hail a four-wheeled cab, and range herself up beside the front wheel, to drive a bargain with the cabman. Without her knowledge I had come to the back of the cab, and could hear distinctly what she said.

I felt at first that I was dreaming when I heard her asking the man if he could drive her to an address near Barnet; and that address was the house of my Uncle Zabdiel! After some demur the man agreed; and the woman got inside, and the cab started. And now I was determined that I would follow this thing out to the bitter end; for I began to understand vaguely what her mission was to my uncle.

As I ran behind the cab, now and then resting myself by perching perilously on the springs, I had time to think of the events that had followed the coming of George Rabbit to the doctor's house, and his discovery of me. I remembered that light I had seen in the loft; I remembered how Martha Leach had come from that loft, carrying a lantern; I remembered how she had threatened to find out who I was, and from whence I came. And I knew now with certainty that she was on her way to my uncle, with the purpose of letting him know the exact state of affairs.

I own that I was puzzled to know why she should be concerning herself in the matter at all. That she hated Debora I knew, and I could only judge that she felt I might be dangerous, and had best be got rid of in some fashion or other. The newspaper reports of my trial and sentence had made my life, of necessity, common property; she would be able easily to discover the address of Uncle Zabdiel. That she was working, as she believed, in the interests of the doctor I could well understand; but whether by his inspiration or not it was impossible for me to know.

The cab stopped at last outside that grim old house I remembered so well, that house from which I had been taken on my uncle's accusation.

By that time, of course, I was some yards away from it, watching from the shelter of a doorway; but I heard the bell peal in the great, hollow old place, and presently saw the gate open, and Martha Leach, after some parley, pa.s.s in. Then the gate was closed again, and I was left outside, to conjecture for myself what was happening within.

I determined at last that I would get into the place myself; it might be possible for me to forestall Martha Leach, and take some of the wind out of her sails. Moreover, the prospect of appearing before my uncle in a ghostly character rather appealed to me than not; he had given me one or two bad shocks in my life, and I might return the compliment. For, of course, I was well aware that he must long since have believed that I was dead and buried, as had been reported. I went near to the house, and tried the gate; found, somewhat to my relief, that it was not fastened.

I slipped in, and closed the gate after me, and found myself standing in the narrow garden that surrounded the house.

Strange memories came flocking back to me as I stood there looking up at the dark house. How much had I not suffered in this place, in what terror of the darkness I had lain, night after night, as a boy, dreading to hear the footsteps of Uncle Zabdiel, and yet feeling some relief at hearing them in that grim and silent place! I thought then, as I stood there, how absolutely alone I was in the great world--how shut out from everything my strength and manhood seemed to have a right to demand. And with that thought came a recklessness upon me, greater even than I had felt before, almost, indeed, a feeling of devilry.

I had been questioning myself as to my motive in coming there at all; now I seemed to see it clearly. The woman now in the house was doubtless giving my uncle chapter and verse concerning my strange coming to life; left in her hands, I was as good as done for already. I felt sure that the first thought in Uncle Zabdiel's mind, if he realised the truth of what she said, would be one of deadly fear for his own safety; for he believed me reckless and steeped in wickedness, and he knew that I had no reason to love him. He would seek protection; and in seeking it would give me up to those who had the right to hold me.

Nor was this all. In giving me up he must perforce open a certain grave wherein lay poor Gregory Pennington, and show what that grave contained.

He must drag that miserable story into the light, and must drag Debora into the light with it. I could see Uncle Zabdiel, in imagination, rubbing his hands, and telling the whole thing glibly, and making much of it; and I determined that Uncle Zabdiel's mouth must be closed.

If in no other fashion, then I felt that I must silence him by threats.

I was an outlaw, fighting a lone hand in a losing cause; he would know at least that I was scarcely likely to be over-scrupulous in my dealing with him or anyone else. But the first thing to do was to get into the house.

Now, I knew the place well, of course, and, moreover, it will be remembered that in those night excursions of mine which had led to so much disaster I had been in the habit of coming and going without his knowledge. It seems to me that I was born to make use more of windows than of doors; but then, as you will have gathered by this time, I was never one for ceremony. On this occasion I recalled old times, and made my way to a certain window, out of which and into which I had crept many a night and many a morning. It was a window at the end of a pa.s.sage which led to my own old room, in which for so many years I had slept. I got in in safety, and crept along the pa.s.sage; and then, out of sheer curiosity, opened the door of that old room, and went in.

And then, in a moment, I was grappling in the semi-darkness with what seemed to be a tall man, who was buffeting me in the wildest fashion with his fists, and shrieking the very house down with a high, raucous voice. Indeed, he let off a succession of yells, in which the only words I could discover were, "Murder!" "Fire!" "Thieves!" and other like things. And all the while I fought for his mouth with my hands in the darkness, and threatened all manner of horrible things if he would not be silent.

At last I overmastered him, and got him on his back on the floor, and knelt upon him there, and glared down into his eyes, which I could see dimly by the light which came through the uncurtained window.

"Now, then," I panted, "if you want to live, be quiet. I can hear someone coming. If you say a word about me, I'll blow your brains out.

I'm armed, and I'm desperate."

He a.s.sured me earnestly, as well as he could by reason of my weight upon him, that he would say not a word about me; and as I heard the steps coming nearer, I made a dart for the head of the old-fashioned bedstead, and slipped behind the curtains there. The next moment the room was filled with light, and I heard Uncle Zabdiel's voice.

"What's the matter? What's the matter? What the devil are you making all that bother about? I thought someone was murdering you."

Peering through a rent in the curtain, I could see that the man I had grappled with, and who now faced my uncle tremblingly, was a tall, ungainly youth, so thin and weedy-looking that I wondered he had resisted me so long. He was clad only in a long white night-shirt, which hung upon him as though he had been mere skin and bone; he had a weak, foolish face, and rather long, fair hair. He stood trembling, and saying nothing, and he was shaking from head to foot.

"Can't you speak?" snapped Uncle Zabdiel (and how well I remembered those tones!).

"I had--had the nightmare," stammered the youth. "Woke myself up with it, sir."

"I never knew you have that before," was my uncle's comment. "Get to bed, and let's hear no more of you. What did you have for supper?"

"Didn't have any supper," replied the youth. "You know I never do."

"Then it couldn't have been that," retorted Uncle Zabdiel. "Come, let's see you get into bed."

Now, the unfortunate fellow knew that a desperate ruffian was concealed behind the curtains of the bedstead; yet his dread of that ruffian was so great that he dared not cry out the truth. More than that, I saw that he dared not disobey my uncle; and between the two of us he was in a nice quandary. At last, however, with a sort of groan he made a leap at the bed, and dived in under the bedclothes and pulled them over his head. Without a word, Uncle Zabdiel walked out of the room, and closed the door, leaving us both in the dark. And for quite a long minute there was no sound in the room.

I began to feel sorry for the youth in the bed, because I knew what he must be suffering. I moved to come out into the room, and he gave a sort of m.u.f.fled shriek and dived deeper under the clothes. I stood beside him, and I began to talk to him as gently as I could.

"Now, look here," I whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you if you keep quiet. Come out from under those clothes, and let me have a look at you, and tell me who you are."

Very slowly he came out from his refuge, and sat up in bed, and looked at me fearfully; and very ghostly he looked, with his fair hair, and his white face, and his white garment, against the dark hangings of the bed.

"I'm old Zabdiel Blowfield's clerk," he said slowly.

"Well, you're not a very respectful clerk, at all events," I retorted with a laugh, as I seated myself on the side of the bed. "And you don't look a very happy one."

"This ain't exactly a house to be happy in," he said. "It's grind--grind--grind--from morning till night, and nothing much to eat--and that not very good. And I'm growing so fast that I seem to need a lot more than what he does."