"Doesn't she pray rather that you may turn honest?"
"Honest!" quoth he, spitting. "Let them be honest as can! An' look 'ee, my lad, I'll tell ye what—you leave my dead mother alone or 't will be the worse for ye."
Having uttered which threat he strode on, scowling and snorting, now and then, in a very disturbing manner, so that I ventured no further remark and we walked a great way in silence until, suddenly venting a snort fiercer and louder then ever, he spoke:
"Honest!" he ejaculated. "Honest—why, curse your carkis, who are you to talk o' honesty? d'ye know as you're liable to be took by any o' these honest uns—took an' appre'ended as my accomplice afore an' arter the fact—d'ye know that?"
"God help me!" I ejaculated, in agonised dismay. "Oh, heaven help me!"
"Let's 'ope so!" he nodded grimly. "Meantime, I intend to do a bit for ye that way meself—seein' as you 'elped me t'night wi' that cursed knot. I'd managed 'em all but one an' that were out o' reach—so because o' that theer knot an' my good mother, I'm a-goin' to—do the best I can for ye."
"How—when—what do you mean?" I questioned eagerly.
"Never you mind, only I am—an' no man can say honester or fairer, an' I'm a-goin' t' do my best for ye because, bein' the son o' my blessed mother, I'm that tender-'earted that, though I'm th' son o' my feyther I've knowed myself to drop a tear in the very act o' business. She were an' old lady in a pair-'oss phaeton wi' plenty o' sparklers an' nice white hair: a rosy old creetur, comfortably plump and round—'specially in front. 'O Mr. 'ighwayman!' says she, weepin' doleful as she tipped me 'er purse an' the shiners, ''ow could ye do it?' 'Ma'm,' I says, wipin' my eyes wi' my pistol—and—'ma'm, I don't know—but do it I must!' An' I rode away quite down-'earted." Here he turned to regard me with his wry smile.
Thus we held on, by field paths and narrow muddy tracks until the moon was down and I was stumbling with weariness. At last, my strength almost spent, we entered a wood, a dismal place where a mournful wind stirred, where trees dripped upon me and wet leaves brushed my face like ghostly fingers, while rain-sodden underbrush and bracken clung about my wearied limbs. Through this clammy dreariness I followed my tireless companion until suddenly his dim form vanished and I was groping amid damp leaves; but through this dense thicket came his hand to seize and drag me on until I found myself in a place of utter darkness.
"Stand still!" he commanded.