CHAPTERCXV.LAURA STANBRIDGE HAS CONFEDERATES—A VISIT TO THE PRISON.The few shillings Laura Stanbridge had on her when cast into gaol were of course soon expended. She found out that a supply of money was absolutely requisite, and she began to consider how this could be obtained. She had a large balance at her banker’s, and a considerable sum in her house at the West-end of London. She had a great objection to doing anything that might advertise her present position to her friends and associates, and she did not care about making a confident of Alf Purvis. She hoped to get through her present difficulty without letting either Alf or Tom Gatliffe know that she had been charged with shoplifting. Unprincipled woman as she was, she had nevertheless a vast amount of pride, and of course this was greatly wounded.After considering the matter over for some time she determined upon her course of action. Charles Peace was the very man for her purpose. She had befriended him on more than one occasion, and he was in duty bound to do the same towards her. Anyway, she felt that she could trust him, as there was no reason for him to round upon her.Peace was therefore much disconcerted upon receiving a letter addressed to him in the Evalina-road from his quondam companion, Laura Stanbridge. In it she begged of him to pay her a visst—he was to pass as her brother on this occasion.“Look here,” said our hero, addressing himself to “Bandy-legged Bill,” “Lorry Stanbridge has written fool to the end of her name at last.”“What do you mean?” inquired Bill.“Mean! Why, just this—she’s been charged with shoplifting—been caught in a lace net, and they’ve run her in.”“The devil! you don’t mean that? Where did it occur?”“Down in the country where she went for change of air. Gad, she’s got a change now, and no mistake.”“Well, I’m blessed, that’s the last thing I should ha’ thought of. Why, I thought she was all over money.”“So she is—leastways I’ve always understood so. She wants to see me to arrange about her affairs—don’t care about anybody knowing that she’s in quod, and all that sort of thing. That’s not to be so much wondered at. It is hard, but you see, Bill, it won’t do for me to trust myself inside a gaol—’taint likely.”“But you won’t desert her?”“I’ll do what I can—bound to do that—but as to paying her a visit, that’s all my eye—won’t do at any price. So you see, old man, I’ve been thinking the matter over, and have come to the conclusion that you might serve poor Lorry.”“Me?”“Yes, there would be no harm in you running down to Clickborne, and having a squint at her. She wants to arrange a few matters, and keep the whole affair dark, for the present at all events, till she sees how matters go. Perhaps she may be able to pull through, do you see? and in that case her friends here in London will be none the wiser.”“She’s not given her own name, I suppose?”“Oh, Lord, no! She’s too fly for that. Well, what say you? Are you willing?”“In course I am. She’s done a good turn when I hadn’t a shoe to my foot, or a rag to my back. Will I go?—like a shot! Tell me where it is, and I am all there.”“You are a good fellow, Bill; I always said so, and are the first to help anyone who is in distress.”“Oh, gammon and all! Don’t lay it on too thick, Charlie.”“I mean what I say.”“I dare say yer does; but now let’s know the rights of it. Fire away!”Peace explained to the gipsy that Lorry was in want of some ready cash. This he, Peace, was willing to furnish her with. In the next place she wanted somebody to call at her house and inform her maid that she was unavoidably detained in the country.“As far as the cash is concerned, that there will be no difficulty about; the other matters will require some little consideration. The first thing to be done is for you to see her.”“I’ll run down this ’ere blessed day,” cried Bill.“No; to-morrow will do. Start early in the morning, and do your best. You must, of course, not give your own name.”“I should think not—I’ll call myself Mr. Bourne.”“Yes, and say you are her uncle. Better to pass as a relative. Her uncle—do you understand?”“All right, I’m fly. But Lord bless us! this is a pretty business. Why, what could she be thinking about?”“I expect she did it without thinking; it’s the way with women, but she’s got her head screwed on right enough, has cut her eye-teeth long ago. I certainly shouldn’t have thought she would have let herself be caught tripping in that fashion, but there is none of us know what may happen. It was to be, I suppose; that’s the best way of looking at the matter.”“She’s proved herself to be a downright good sort to me, and I’d do any mortal thing to serve her,” cried Bill, in an earnest tone. “Whatever she wishes I’ll do, if it be possible—that’s all I can say. Hang it all, but this is a bad business.”“Don’t you say anything about it to a soul—mind you that.”“I will not.”“Not to the women of this house, or Willie.”“Oh, dear me, no; I shouldn’t think of such a thing. She may still be able to pull through.”“I hope so, I’m sure. Well I never—blowed if this hasn’t queered me and no mistake.”“Let’s have some grog, old man. It’s put my pipe out—to-morrow morning, you say?”“Yes—by the early train. You will be able to learn more then, for of course she’s obliged to be a little pinched in her letter to me, which commences with “My dear brother.”The gipsy burst out into a loud laugh.“That’s a caulker,” said he. “She looks a deal more like your daughter, old man.”“There isn’t the least doubt of that. She looks wonderfully young, all things considered.”“She’s what I call a fascinating woman, and, when togged-up, is right up to the knocker. Well, I am sorry for her, poor soul—very sorry.”Mr. Rawton drained off the remainder of his whiskey-and-water, and did not refuse a fresh supply when Peace pushed the bottle towards him.Bill could take a pretty good amount of spirits and beer, and did not appear to be much the worse for it. Peace, on the contrary, seldom exceeded the bounds of moderation.“Keep your head cool for to-morrow’s business,” said he to the gipsy, “for you’ll want all your wits about you to dodge the gaolers and to throw dust in their eyes.”“You don’t want to be very clever to do that if it’s gold dust.”“Yes, that’s right enough. You’d better take a little with you. It will be serviceable, I dare say—that is, if you know how to work it.”“I’ll work it right enough; you’ve no call to be afeard of that.”After some further conversation Bandy-legged Bill took his departure, for by this time Mrs. Peace and Mrs. Thompson had come into the room and put an end to the discussion.On the following morning Mr. William Rawton took a return ticket to the nearest station to the gaol in which Miss Stanbridge was confined; before doing so he had deemed it advisable to make as elaborate a toilette as circumstances would admit, and looked on this occasion really respectable, and, in addition to this, he had determined upon being guarded in his expressions, avoiding as much as possible any cant sayings or slang expression. His grammar was a little faulty, it must be admitted, but it was wonderful how he could pull himself together, and assume an air of gentility when the occasion required it.He presented himself at the prison gates, and said he had come from London to see his niece. He was admitted at once, although it was not visiting day, but the chaplain had obtained permission from the governor forNo.43 to see her relatives in the cell in which she was confined, and Bill, or rather Mr. Bourne, as he called himself, was at once conducted up some steps, then through corridor after corridor, till cell 43 was reached.As he came in sight of it he observed a clerical-looking gentleman emerge from its entrance.This personage was Mr. Leverall, who glanced at the gipsy.“Uncle to the prisonerNo.43,” observed the warder, in answer to the glance of inquiry given by the chaplain.“Ah!” said the latter, “you are the young person’s uncle—are you?” said the chaplain.“Yes, sir,” returned the gipsy. “It’s been a sad shock to her relatives, and has fallen upon me with terrible and overwhelming force. I have come to know the rights of it, for we all of us find it hard to believe.”“I hope and trust—and, indeed, I may say I feel assured—that I have awakened in the mind of your niece a sense of her position, which is, indeed, a most distressing one. She has no friends or relatives in this neighbourhood, I believe?”“No, sir, not any. All her relatives reside in London.”“You may think yourself greatly favoured in being permitted to visit her in her cell. It is against the prison rules, but the governor has kindly accorded you the privilege.”“I am sure I don’t know how to sufficiently express my thanks,” said the gipsy, with a look which would have imposed upon the most sceptical.Mr. Leverall passed on, and Rawton was conducted into the presence ofNo.43. As he was passing through the door he slipped half a sovereign into the hand of the warder, who had been instructed to remain with the door half open, in sight of the prisoner and her visitor—so that while in this position he could not fail to hear the whole of the conversation that passed between the two, but the piece of gold had a magical effect; he withdrew out of earshot, and Bill and Miss Stanbridge were enabled to converse without reserve.“Oh, it’s you, Bill,” cried the latter; “why hasn’t Charlie come?”“Could’nt—daren’t—that’s the reason. Well, I never expected to see a niece of mine in this position!” he added, emphasising the word “niece” emphatically.“My dear uncle,” cried Laura, taking up the cue; “I hope you have not come here to upbraid me.”“Far from it; I am here to see what can be done for you, my darling,” returned he, putting his arms round her neck and giving a loud smack or two with his lips to make believe that he was kissing her. This little ceremony over, he glanced through the chink in the door, and saw that the warder had withdrawn to the further end of the corridor.“All right,” he said to Laura—“he’s out of earshot. Now let’s to business. Charlie can’t come, but I’m here instead—so fire away while we’ve got the opportunity.”“You must not say a word to anyone about this unfortunate business.”The gipsy nodded.“And, above all, nothing to Gatliffe or Purvis.”Another nod.“Go to my house and tell the girl that I am detained in the country, and shall not return for a fortnight at the very least. I wish you could manage to take charge of the house during my absence. That would be a great relief to me.”“Stop there?”“Yes.”“But I haven’t your authority, and they’d turn me out.”“Ah, dear me, how powerless I am—how very powerless!” cried Laura, in a tone of sadness; “I’m at his mercy—and he would not scruple to do anything.”“I’ll help you as far as lies in my power,” said Rawton; “that you may depend upon.”“Do, there’s a good creature; for I need help just now—and I know I can rely upon you.”The gipsy put five sovereigns into her hand, which she slid into the pocket of her dress.“That will be enough to go on with, I suppose?” observed he.“Oh, yes, more than enough; where did you get them from?”“Charlie.”“Call at the house as often as you can, and see how matters are going on there. I suppose Alf will see that all’s right. I hope so, but you keep an eye upon the place and let me know if anything’s amiss.”“I will—anything else?”“I don’t know that there is.”The gipsy leant forward and whispered into her ear, “I am your uncle, and my name is Mr. Bourne. Remember that.”Miss Stanbridge nodded.“And Charles is Thompson—that’s understood.”“If you once address him by the other name, he will be ruined. He bid me charge you to remember that.”“But I’m not likely to forget it.”“But you’d better not write to him at all.”“Has he said so?”“Yes.”“He has his reasons then—I will not do so.”The conversation was continued for some time. Laura Stanbridge felt very well assured that Charles Peace had some very strong motive for concealment. Whether she suspected at this time the magnitude of his crimes, or that he was liable at any moment to be arrested on the charge of murder, it is not so easy to determine, but it was quite clear that he had manifested no disposition to desert her since he had sent down Rawton with remarkable promptness.She had unbounded confidence in the discretion and faithfulness of the gipsy, and this confidence it is needless to say was not misplaced.No.61.Illustration: AS HE ENTERED SHE SEEMED CONFUSEDAS HE ENTERED SHE SEEMED CONFUSED AND ATTEMPTED TO RISE.During their interview she fully explained her position, and laid down the line of action he was to follow. In short, she made him her confidential friend and factotum, and after a long conference, much longer than is usually accorded to prisoners, Bandy-legged Bill kissed her hand affectionately, and passed out of the cell, the door of which was immediately locked by the prison warder.Bill put a handkerchief to his eyes and pretended to be deeply affected, and apparently overwhelmed with grief he suffered himself to be conducted in silence through the corridor of the prison.He hastened back to Peace and made him acquainted with all that had passed between himself and Laura Stanbridge.“Umph!” ejaculated our hero; “it isn’t of any use mincing matters in cases of this sort. I’m sorry for her and will do what I can to help her, but it isn’t any reason because one person has tumbled into the water that another should do the same thing in his endeavours to save a friend. I can’t go and see her, and won’t.”“She knows that, old man. She’s a sensible woman, and sees things in a proper light. I will see her as often as she requires me, so that’s enough—aint it? You can’t do her a morsel of good.”“Of course I will serve her to the utmost of my power,” said Peace, “but it must be done without my running any risk. I have got quite enough to contend with here, and if the police are down upon me, or have the slightest idea who I am, the game will be up, and I’m done for. Do your best, Bill, and for mercy’s sake keep dark.”“You’ve no call to be afeard as far as I am concerned,” replied the gipsy. “I shall see her again, and see how she gets on; but, Lord, I dare say she’ll be able to pull through. She wants me to keep an eye upon her house—which of course I’m in duty bound to do. She aint got altogether what you might call the best sort of people about her! Hang it all, but she has been a fool!”“A downright fool in this case, and no mistake; but it’s too late to talk about that. She’s got herself into a scrape, and must get out of it in the best way she can.”“I intend to stand by her, come what may,” cried Bill, “and so don’t you trouble yourself in the matter.”“You are as good as gold—that’s what you are,” replied Peace.Rawton remained for some time at Peace’s house, and took his departure therefrom with many protestations of friendship towards Peace and the unfortunate Laura Stanbridge.
The few shillings Laura Stanbridge had on her when cast into gaol were of course soon expended. She found out that a supply of money was absolutely requisite, and she began to consider how this could be obtained. She had a large balance at her banker’s, and a considerable sum in her house at the West-end of London. She had a great objection to doing anything that might advertise her present position to her friends and associates, and she did not care about making a confident of Alf Purvis. She hoped to get through her present difficulty without letting either Alf or Tom Gatliffe know that she had been charged with shoplifting. Unprincipled woman as she was, she had nevertheless a vast amount of pride, and of course this was greatly wounded.
After considering the matter over for some time she determined upon her course of action. Charles Peace was the very man for her purpose. She had befriended him on more than one occasion, and he was in duty bound to do the same towards her. Anyway, she felt that she could trust him, as there was no reason for him to round upon her.
Peace was therefore much disconcerted upon receiving a letter addressed to him in the Evalina-road from his quondam companion, Laura Stanbridge. In it she begged of him to pay her a visst—he was to pass as her brother on this occasion.
“Look here,” said our hero, addressing himself to “Bandy-legged Bill,” “Lorry Stanbridge has written fool to the end of her name at last.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Bill.
“Mean! Why, just this—she’s been charged with shoplifting—been caught in a lace net, and they’ve run her in.”
“The devil! you don’t mean that? Where did it occur?”
“Down in the country where she went for change of air. Gad, she’s got a change now, and no mistake.”
“Well, I’m blessed, that’s the last thing I should ha’ thought of. Why, I thought she was all over money.”
“So she is—leastways I’ve always understood so. She wants to see me to arrange about her affairs—don’t care about anybody knowing that she’s in quod, and all that sort of thing. That’s not to be so much wondered at. It is hard, but you see, Bill, it won’t do for me to trust myself inside a gaol—’taint likely.”
“But you won’t desert her?”
“I’ll do what I can—bound to do that—but as to paying her a visit, that’s all my eye—won’t do at any price. So you see, old man, I’ve been thinking the matter over, and have come to the conclusion that you might serve poor Lorry.”
“Me?”
“Yes, there would be no harm in you running down to Clickborne, and having a squint at her. She wants to arrange a few matters, and keep the whole affair dark, for the present at all events, till she sees how matters go. Perhaps she may be able to pull through, do you see? and in that case her friends here in London will be none the wiser.”
“She’s not given her own name, I suppose?”
“Oh, Lord, no! She’s too fly for that. Well, what say you? Are you willing?”
“In course I am. She’s done a good turn when I hadn’t a shoe to my foot, or a rag to my back. Will I go?—like a shot! Tell me where it is, and I am all there.”
“You are a good fellow, Bill; I always said so, and are the first to help anyone who is in distress.”
“Oh, gammon and all! Don’t lay it on too thick, Charlie.”
“I mean what I say.”
“I dare say yer does; but now let’s know the rights of it. Fire away!”
Peace explained to the gipsy that Lorry was in want of some ready cash. This he, Peace, was willing to furnish her with. In the next place she wanted somebody to call at her house and inform her maid that she was unavoidably detained in the country.
“As far as the cash is concerned, that there will be no difficulty about; the other matters will require some little consideration. The first thing to be done is for you to see her.”
“I’ll run down this ’ere blessed day,” cried Bill.
“No; to-morrow will do. Start early in the morning, and do your best. You must, of course, not give your own name.”
“I should think not—I’ll call myself Mr. Bourne.”
“Yes, and say you are her uncle. Better to pass as a relative. Her uncle—do you understand?”
“All right, I’m fly. But Lord bless us! this is a pretty business. Why, what could she be thinking about?”
“I expect she did it without thinking; it’s the way with women, but she’s got her head screwed on right enough, has cut her eye-teeth long ago. I certainly shouldn’t have thought she would have let herself be caught tripping in that fashion, but there is none of us know what may happen. It was to be, I suppose; that’s the best way of looking at the matter.”
“She’s proved herself to be a downright good sort to me, and I’d do any mortal thing to serve her,” cried Bill, in an earnest tone. “Whatever she wishes I’ll do, if it be possible—that’s all I can say. Hang it all, but this is a bad business.”
“Don’t you say anything about it to a soul—mind you that.”
“I will not.”
“Not to the women of this house, or Willie.”
“Oh, dear me, no; I shouldn’t think of such a thing. She may still be able to pull through.”
“I hope so, I’m sure. Well I never—blowed if this hasn’t queered me and no mistake.”
“Let’s have some grog, old man. It’s put my pipe out—to-morrow morning, you say?”
“Yes—by the early train. You will be able to learn more then, for of course she’s obliged to be a little pinched in her letter to me, which commences with “My dear brother.”
The gipsy burst out into a loud laugh.
“That’s a caulker,” said he. “She looks a deal more like your daughter, old man.”
“There isn’t the least doubt of that. She looks wonderfully young, all things considered.”
“She’s what I call a fascinating woman, and, when togged-up, is right up to the knocker. Well, I am sorry for her, poor soul—very sorry.”
Mr. Rawton drained off the remainder of his whiskey-and-water, and did not refuse a fresh supply when Peace pushed the bottle towards him.
Bill could take a pretty good amount of spirits and beer, and did not appear to be much the worse for it. Peace, on the contrary, seldom exceeded the bounds of moderation.
“Keep your head cool for to-morrow’s business,” said he to the gipsy, “for you’ll want all your wits about you to dodge the gaolers and to throw dust in their eyes.”
“You don’t want to be very clever to do that if it’s gold dust.”
“Yes, that’s right enough. You’d better take a little with you. It will be serviceable, I dare say—that is, if you know how to work it.”
“I’ll work it right enough; you’ve no call to be afeard of that.”
After some further conversation Bandy-legged Bill took his departure, for by this time Mrs. Peace and Mrs. Thompson had come into the room and put an end to the discussion.
On the following morning Mr. William Rawton took a return ticket to the nearest station to the gaol in which Miss Stanbridge was confined; before doing so he had deemed it advisable to make as elaborate a toilette as circumstances would admit, and looked on this occasion really respectable, and, in addition to this, he had determined upon being guarded in his expressions, avoiding as much as possible any cant sayings or slang expression. His grammar was a little faulty, it must be admitted, but it was wonderful how he could pull himself together, and assume an air of gentility when the occasion required it.
He presented himself at the prison gates, and said he had come from London to see his niece. He was admitted at once, although it was not visiting day, but the chaplain had obtained permission from the governor forNo.43 to see her relatives in the cell in which she was confined, and Bill, or rather Mr. Bourne, as he called himself, was at once conducted up some steps, then through corridor after corridor, till cell 43 was reached.
As he came in sight of it he observed a clerical-looking gentleman emerge from its entrance.
This personage was Mr. Leverall, who glanced at the gipsy.
“Uncle to the prisonerNo.43,” observed the warder, in answer to the glance of inquiry given by the chaplain.
“Ah!” said the latter, “you are the young person’s uncle—are you?” said the chaplain.
“Yes, sir,” returned the gipsy. “It’s been a sad shock to her relatives, and has fallen upon me with terrible and overwhelming force. I have come to know the rights of it, for we all of us find it hard to believe.”
“I hope and trust—and, indeed, I may say I feel assured—that I have awakened in the mind of your niece a sense of her position, which is, indeed, a most distressing one. She has no friends or relatives in this neighbourhood, I believe?”
“No, sir, not any. All her relatives reside in London.”
“You may think yourself greatly favoured in being permitted to visit her in her cell. It is against the prison rules, but the governor has kindly accorded you the privilege.”
“I am sure I don’t know how to sufficiently express my thanks,” said the gipsy, with a look which would have imposed upon the most sceptical.
Mr. Leverall passed on, and Rawton was conducted into the presence ofNo.43. As he was passing through the door he slipped half a sovereign into the hand of the warder, who had been instructed to remain with the door half open, in sight of the prisoner and her visitor—so that while in this position he could not fail to hear the whole of the conversation that passed between the two, but the piece of gold had a magical effect; he withdrew out of earshot, and Bill and Miss Stanbridge were enabled to converse without reserve.
“Oh, it’s you, Bill,” cried the latter; “why hasn’t Charlie come?”
“Could’nt—daren’t—that’s the reason. Well, I never expected to see a niece of mine in this position!” he added, emphasising the word “niece” emphatically.
“My dear uncle,” cried Laura, taking up the cue; “I hope you have not come here to upbraid me.”
“Far from it; I am here to see what can be done for you, my darling,” returned he, putting his arms round her neck and giving a loud smack or two with his lips to make believe that he was kissing her. This little ceremony over, he glanced through the chink in the door, and saw that the warder had withdrawn to the further end of the corridor.
“All right,” he said to Laura—“he’s out of earshot. Now let’s to business. Charlie can’t come, but I’m here instead—so fire away while we’ve got the opportunity.”
“You must not say a word to anyone about this unfortunate business.”
The gipsy nodded.
“And, above all, nothing to Gatliffe or Purvis.”
Another nod.
“Go to my house and tell the girl that I am detained in the country, and shall not return for a fortnight at the very least. I wish you could manage to take charge of the house during my absence. That would be a great relief to me.”
“Stop there?”
“Yes.”
“But I haven’t your authority, and they’d turn me out.”
“Ah, dear me, how powerless I am—how very powerless!” cried Laura, in a tone of sadness; “I’m at his mercy—and he would not scruple to do anything.”
“I’ll help you as far as lies in my power,” said Rawton; “that you may depend upon.”
“Do, there’s a good creature; for I need help just now—and I know I can rely upon you.”
The gipsy put five sovereigns into her hand, which she slid into the pocket of her dress.
“That will be enough to go on with, I suppose?” observed he.
“Oh, yes, more than enough; where did you get them from?”
“Charlie.”
“Call at the house as often as you can, and see how matters are going on there. I suppose Alf will see that all’s right. I hope so, but you keep an eye upon the place and let me know if anything’s amiss.”
“I will—anything else?”
“I don’t know that there is.”
The gipsy leant forward and whispered into her ear, “I am your uncle, and my name is Mr. Bourne. Remember that.”
Miss Stanbridge nodded.
“And Charles is Thompson—that’s understood.”
“If you once address him by the other name, he will be ruined. He bid me charge you to remember that.”
“But I’m not likely to forget it.”
“But you’d better not write to him at all.”
“Has he said so?”
“Yes.”
“He has his reasons then—I will not do so.”
The conversation was continued for some time. Laura Stanbridge felt very well assured that Charles Peace had some very strong motive for concealment. Whether she suspected at this time the magnitude of his crimes, or that he was liable at any moment to be arrested on the charge of murder, it is not so easy to determine, but it was quite clear that he had manifested no disposition to desert her since he had sent down Rawton with remarkable promptness.
She had unbounded confidence in the discretion and faithfulness of the gipsy, and this confidence it is needless to say was not misplaced.
No.61.
Illustration: AS HE ENTERED SHE SEEMED CONFUSEDAS HE ENTERED SHE SEEMED CONFUSED AND ATTEMPTED TO RISE.
AS HE ENTERED SHE SEEMED CONFUSED AND ATTEMPTED TO RISE.
During their interview she fully explained her position, and laid down the line of action he was to follow. In short, she made him her confidential friend and factotum, and after a long conference, much longer than is usually accorded to prisoners, Bandy-legged Bill kissed her hand affectionately, and passed out of the cell, the door of which was immediately locked by the prison warder.
Bill put a handkerchief to his eyes and pretended to be deeply affected, and apparently overwhelmed with grief he suffered himself to be conducted in silence through the corridor of the prison.
He hastened back to Peace and made him acquainted with all that had passed between himself and Laura Stanbridge.
“Umph!” ejaculated our hero; “it isn’t of any use mincing matters in cases of this sort. I’m sorry for her and will do what I can to help her, but it isn’t any reason because one person has tumbled into the water that another should do the same thing in his endeavours to save a friend. I can’t go and see her, and won’t.”
“She knows that, old man. She’s a sensible woman, and sees things in a proper light. I will see her as often as she requires me, so that’s enough—aint it? You can’t do her a morsel of good.”
“Of course I will serve her to the utmost of my power,” said Peace, “but it must be done without my running any risk. I have got quite enough to contend with here, and if the police are down upon me, or have the slightest idea who I am, the game will be up, and I’m done for. Do your best, Bill, and for mercy’s sake keep dark.”
“You’ve no call to be afeard as far as I am concerned,” replied the gipsy. “I shall see her again, and see how she gets on; but, Lord, I dare say she’ll be able to pull through. She wants me to keep an eye upon her house—which of course I’m in duty bound to do. She aint got altogether what you might call the best sort of people about her! Hang it all, but she has been a fool!”
“A downright fool in this case, and no mistake; but it’s too late to talk about that. She’s got herself into a scrape, and must get out of it in the best way she can.”
“I intend to stand by her, come what may,” cried Bill, “and so don’t you trouble yourself in the matter.”
“You are as good as gold—that’s what you are,” replied Peace.
Rawton remained for some time at Peace’s house, and took his departure therefrom with many protestations of friendship towards Peace and the unfortunate Laura Stanbridge.