Even his surly jailer, bringing him food, looked at him with a touch of sympathy. Harry's haggard eyes met his with a mute appeal for help.
"Odsbud!" exclaimed the man, "'tis hard on a mere stripling. If your name bean't Christopher Butler, what be it?"
"My name is Harry Rochester. 'Tis a vile plot. You believe me?"
"Ay, I believe ye. Tain't in reason that a boy should ha' got ocean deep in debt."
"Will you help me? You see what a snare is about me. Will you go to the Star and Garter in Leicester fields and ask for Sherebiah Minshull? Tell him where I am, and what they are going to do with me."
"But what'd be the good, mister?"
"He would find a way to help me. You would know that if you knew him."
"And how much might ye be willing to pay, now?"
"I haven't a penny, as you know, but he had some money. Lose no time; pray go now, at once."
"Well, the truth on't is I'm paid by t'other party."