They were very nearly coming to blows there and then, but Mr. Purvis was under the impression that he might get the worst of it; so he was fain to be a little more moderate in his language.
“And I’d ha’ done it, and no flies,” said Rawton. “There aint any mistake about that; ’taint likely I’d submit to be bullyragged by the young hound, and be hanged to him.”
“He’s a conceited fellow, Bill,” observed Laura. “Everybody knows that, but don’t take any notice of what he says. It is isn’t worth while.”
“I don’t know so much about that,” returned the gipsy, with a nod. “A sound thrashing u’d do my gentleman a world of good, and he’ll have it some of these days, mark you that.”
“And how about Charlie Peace—I mean Mr. Thompson?” inquired the fair prisoner.
“Oh, he’s as right as the mail. Sent his love to you and all good wishes, but he dursn’t come himself, because you see he might be recognised, and then the game would be up, and Charlie would be quodded. Oh, don’t think anything the worse of him for it; but he can’t come.”
“I understand that. I don’t wish him to come—it would be the worst of folly for him to do so.”
After a short interview the gipsy took his departure, and returned to the Evalina-road to report progress.
As the evening drew on Mr. Leverall entered cell No. 43, and found its occupant reading and in tears.
He was deeply moved, and drew towards her.