“I could not rest without seeing ye,” said Joe Doughty. “I want ye to say you bear me no ill-will. What I have done has been done in the cause of justice, an’ it warnt no fault o’ mine that ye be in your present position. What say ye, Giles? Speak, man.”
“I don’t blame you, Joe. I never have done so. It be right that I should be brought to justice, an’ ye did nothing more than your duty. I wish, when ye laid hands on me in the parlour of the ‘Lord Cornwallis’ that yer grip on my throat had been a little harder. I should have been spared a world of anxiety and misery.”
As he spoke he gave his hand to Doughty.
“You bear me no ill-will?” cried the latter.
“No—none whatever. I bear no ill-will to any mortal man. Why should I? I forgive as I hope to be forgiven.”
“Ah, that be good—I’m glad to hear ’ee say so. I was that angry when I saw ’ee in the ‘Cornwallis’ that I could ha’ killed thee then and there, for I was as savage as a meat hatchet; but that be all over now. We ha’ known each other for goodish many years, Giles, ha’ worked together for Lord knows how long, an’ I be sorry for this bisness. How came ’ee to do such a thing?”
“How?” cried Chudley, “Dunno myself. I was bewitched. People won’t bleeve me when I tell ’em, but I was, Joe. I was under a spell. How is Nell Fulford?” he inquired, suddenly.
“She be broken down, but is better nor what she were—a deal better, I think.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the prisoner, “When I saw her a talkin’ to Mr. Philip in Dennett’s-lane my heart seemed to be a fire loike, an’ my head was all of a whirl. I could see she were a listnin’ and a listnin’ to what he were a sayin’. I could see she had eyes and ears only for him. And this drove me wild loike. And then——But you know the rest.”
The miserable man covered his face with his hands and heaved several deep sighs, which seemed to shake his frame to the very centre.