“Come none o' that,” said the man, suspecting this shudder. He thought it was the prologue to some desperate act; for all a chained madman does is read upon this plan: his terror passes for rage, his very sobs for snarls.
“Oh, be honest with me,” said Alfred imploringly; “do you think it is to steal my money the wretch has stolen my liberty?”
“What wretch?”
“My father.”
“I know nothing about it,” said the man sullenly, “in course there's mostly money behind, when young gents like you come to be took care of. But you musn't go thinking of that, or you'll excite yourself again. Come you eat your vittles like a Christian, and no more about it.”
“Leave it, that is a good fellow; and then I'll try and eat a little by-and-bye. But my grief is great—oh Julia! Julia! what shall I do? And I am not used to eat at this time. Will you, my good fellow?”
“Well, I will, now you behave like a gentleman,” said the man.
Then Alfred coaxed him to take off the handcuffs. He refused, but ended by doing it; and so left him.
Four more leaden hours rolled by, and then this same attendant (his name was Brown) brought him a cup of tea. It was welcome to his parched throat; he drank it, and ate a mouthful of the meat to please the man, and even asked for some more tea.
At eight four keepers came into his room, undressed him, compelled him to make his toilette, &c., before them, which put him to shame—being a gentleman—almost as much as it would a woman. They then hobbled him, and fastened his ankles to the bed, and put his hands into muffles, but did not confine his body; because they had lost a lucrative lodger only a month ago, throttled at night in a strait-waistcoat.