‘What would you have us do, master!’ cried Hugh.
‘Nothing,’ returned Gashford, shrugging his shoulders, ‘nothing. When my lord was reproached and threatened for standing by you, I, as a prudent man, would have had you do nothing. When the soldiers were trampling you under their horses’ feet, I would have had you do nothing. When one of them was struck down by a daring hand, and I saw confusion and dismay in all their faces, I would have had you do nothing—just what you did, in short. This is the young man who had so little prudence and so much boldness. Ah! I am sorry for him.’
‘Sorry, master!’ cried Hugh.
‘Sorry, Muster Gashford!’ echoed Dennis.
‘In case there should be a proclamation out to-morrow, offering five hundred pounds, or some such trifle, for his apprehension; and in case it should include another man who dropped into the lobby from the stairs above,’ said Gashford, coldly; ‘still, do nothing.’
‘Fire and fury, master!’ cried Hugh, starting up. ‘What have we done, that you should talk to us like this!’
‘Nothing,’ returned Gashford with a sneer. ‘If you are cast into prison; if the young man—’ here he looked hard at Barnaby’s attentive face—‘is dragged from us and from his friends; perhaps from people whom he loves, and whom his death would kill; is thrown into jail, brought out and hanged before their eyes; still, do nothing. You’ll find it your best policy, I have no doubt.’
‘Come on!’ cried Hugh, striding towards the door. ‘Dennis—Barnaby—come on!’
‘Where? To do what?’ said Gashford, slipping past him, and standing with his back against it.
‘Anywhere! Anything!’ cried Hugh. ‘Stand aside, master, or the window will serve our turn as well. Let us out!’