"How be'st come to this?" asked Sherebiah. "Thowt 'ee was ripe for hangman this time, coz."
"Rot you!" spluttered the captain, struggling to his feet. "Hands off! Shall I never be quit of you!"
"Zooks! That's your thanks! Come, Rafe, blood's thicker nor water, as 'ee said yourself: you've broke prison sure enough, but they'll be after 'ee afore mornen. Mr. Rochester ha' saved 'ee from drownen, but you must put a few miles betwixt 'ee and hangman afore you can rest easy. How be'st come to this, man?"
"Let me go, I tell you."
"But you be drippen wet, Rafe; you'll cotch your death o' cold;—and faith, so will Master Harry. Better get home, sir, and change your things."
"No hurry, Sherry. Captain Aglionby, believe me, you must make yourself scarce. You've done me many an ill turn, for what reason I know not. But that's past now; I have no wish to give you up to the hangman. There's a boat moored to the bank a few yards down: you had better take that, and row through the night. Sherry, you're dry; change clothes with the captain."
"I'll have none of his clothes. I'll take the boat. Out of my way!"
Escaping from Sherebiah's grasp, Aglionby stumbled away in the direction of the boat, the other two watching him in silence until the darkness swallowed him.
"Unthankful viper!" muttered Sherebiah.
"To save a foe's life is an injury never forgiven," said Harry with a shrug. "I'm shivering, Sherry: let us get back."