After looking at him in silence for some moments, Dennis, who was greatly relieved to find him in this mood, drew the chair towards his rough couch and sat down near him—taking the precaution, however, to keep out of the range of his brawny arm.
‘Well said, brother; nothing could be better said,’ he ventured to observe. ‘We’ll eat and drink of the best, and sleep our best, and make the best of it every way. Anything can be got for money. Let’s spend it merrily.’
‘Ay,’ said Hugh, coiling himself into a new position.—‘Where is it?’
‘Why, they took mine from me at the lodge,’ said Mr Dennis; ‘but mine’s a peculiar case.’
‘Is it? They took mine too.’
‘Why then, I tell you what, brother,’ Dennis began. ‘You must look up your friends—’
‘My friends!’ cried Hugh, starting up and resting on his hands. ‘Where are my friends?’
‘Your relations then,’ said Dennis.
‘Ha ha ha!’ laughed Hugh, waving one arm above his head. ‘He talks of friends to me—talks of relations to a man whose mother died the death in store for her son, and left him, a hungry brat, without a face he knew in all the world! He talks of this to me!’
‘Brother,’ cried the hangman, whose features underwent a sudden change, ‘you don’t mean to say—’