"Would you rather not stay?" whispered his friend.
"I'm not feeling very well," said Henry Harper; thereupon they left the court and went out into the street.
They walked along Holborn in complete silence. To the Sailor the fellowship, the security, the friendliness of that crowded street were a great relief. His soul was in the grip of awful memories. Even the man at his side could not dispel them. Mr. Ambrose was much farther away just now than the Old Man, the Island of San Pedro, and the savage and brutal murderer to whom he owed his life.
For days afterwards, the mind of the Sailor was dominated by Mr. Thompson. He learned from the newspapers that the mate of the Margaret Carey was condemned to death, and that he awaited the last office of the law in Dalston Prison. One day, an odd impulse came upon him. He bought some grapes and took them to the prison, and with a boldness far from his character at ordinary times, sought permission to see the condemned man.
As Mr. Thompson had only one day more to live, and not one of his friends had visited him for the simple reason that he had not a friend in the world, the governor of the prison, a humane man, gave the Sailor permission to see the mate of the Margaret Carey.
Behind iron bars and in the presence of a warder, Henry Harper was allowed to look upon Mr. Thompson, to speak to him, and to offer the grapes he had brought him. But a dreadful shock awaited the young man. He saw at once that there was nothing human now in the man who was ranging his cell like a caged beast.
"Don't you know me, Mr. Thompson?" cried Henry Harper feebly, through the bars.
The mate of the Margaret Carey paid no heed to his voice, but still paced up and down.
"Don't you know me, Mr. Thompson? I'm Sailor."
For a fraction of time, the condemned man turned savage, unutterable eyes upon him. They were those of a wild beast at bay.