“No violence—no violence.”
“Then leave me to pursue my walk alone,” said Gray. “In a word, sir, I am well armed, and will not be intruded on; your design may be to rob me, for aught that I know.”
“Far from it—far from it,” said the man. “I am a respectable tradesman.”
“Then you ought to know better than to force your company upon those who desire it not,” said Gray.
“Very well, sir; very well. No offence; I’ll leave you. Good evening, or rather morning.”
“Past four, and a cold morning,” said the watchman again, and while the shoemaker paused irresolute for a moment, Gray walked hastily past the guardian of the night.
He felt then how impolitic it would be to look back, but he could not resist the impulse so to do, and saw the watchman in earnest conversation with his late companion, while the eyes of both were bent upon him.
The danger was great, but Gray felt that he should but provoke it to wear a still worse aspect by exhibiting any fear; so, although he kept all his senses on the qui vive, and every nerve strung for action, he walked but slowly away, with something of the same kind of feeling that an adventurous hunter might be supposed to feel in some Indian jungle when retreating before a crouching tiger, who he feels would spring upon him were he to show the least sign of trepidation, but who it is just possible may let him off if he show a bold front.
Jacob Gray reached in a few moments the corner of a street, and then he ventured another glance over his shoulder at the motions of the enemy. His heart sickened as he saw the watchman give a nod to his companion, and then commence running after him (Gray), at full speed.
With a spasmodic kind of gasp, produced by a choking sensation in his throat, as his extreme danger now rushed upon his brain, Jacob Gray dived down the narrow turning, and fled like a hunted hare.