"I shall not neglect your advice, sir," returned Skilligalee; "and may God bless you for it."
"And you," continued Richard, addressing himself to Margaret Flathers, "second your companion in his good intentions. I know not what deed on your part could have led to your incarceration in that cell—neither do I seek to know;—but to you I would give similar advice—avoid those whose ways are criminal, and whose vengeance is as terrific as it is lawless. Farewell."
"May God bless you, sir, for your good counsel!" said Margaret Flathers, weeping.
She had not merely repeated, with parrot-like callousness, the words uttered by her companion: that benediction emanated with fervid sincerity from a heart deeply penetrated by anxiety to renew a long-forgotten acquaintance with rectitude.
"Farewell, sir," said Skilligalee.
He and the Rattlesnake then struck into one of the streets with which the alley at the back of the gipsies' palace communicated.
Richard took another direction on his way homewards.
CHAPTER CXLII.
GIBBET.
A fortnight had passed since the incidents just related.
It was a Monday morning.