“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.