“Yes, I mean to be happy with some one,” said Alfred. “I am not one of your self-sacrificing angels; thank Heaven! Your shall not sacrifice us to your mother's injustice nor to the caprices of fate. We have one another; but you would immolate me for the pleasure of immolating yourself. Don't provoke me too far, or I'll carry you off by force. I swear it, by Him who made us both.”
“Dearest, how wildly you talk.” And with this Julia hung her head, and had a guilty thrill. She could not help thinking that eccentric little measure would relieve her of the sin of disobedience.
After making known to her his desperate resolution, Alfred was silent, and they went sadly side by side; so dear, so near, yet always some infernal thing or other coming between them. They reached a passage in a miserable street. At the mouth stood two of Green's men, planted there to follow Skinner should he go out: but they reported all quiet. “Bring the old gentleman up,” said Green. “I appointed him six o'clock, and it's on the stroke.” He then descended the passage, and striking a light led the way up a high stair. Skinner lived on the fifth story. Green tapped at his door. “Mr. Barkington.”
No reply.
“Mr. Barkington, I've brought you some money.”
No reply.
“Perhaps he is not at home,” said Mr. Compton.
“Oh, yes, sir, I sent a sharp boy up, and he picked the paper out of the keyhole and saw him sitting reading.”
He then applied his own eye to the keyhole. “I see something black,” said he, “I think he suspects.”
While he hesitated, they became conscious of a pungent vapour stealing through the now open keyhole.