The second night was spent as was the first; and so, for one whole week, did Roger Egremont give himself up to liquor and cards and dice and the lowest company accessible in Newgate prison. At the end of that time even his strong, country-bred frame began to show the effects of his long debauch, and his mind, too, experienced the benefit of being turned from the consideration of its misery into the channel of cards and drink.
One night—the eighth after he entered the prison—Roger’s strength gave out temporarily. Bess, passing along the corridor beyond her uncle’s quarters, saw a figure lying prone, and going up to it found it to be Roger Egremont, not only drunk, but ill,—the Roger Egremont who had said so haughtily to William of Orange at their first meeting, “I am an English gentleman, by God!”
Bess looked at him, with pity and contempt struggling in her breast. She was as strong as any man, and leaning down, she actually managed to raise Roger to his feet, and to lead him to his dismal little room, where he fell, groaning, upon the bed.
Something in his face, something in his fate would have touched even a hard heart, and Bess Lukens had one of the softest of hearts, along with a turbulent tongue and a warm temper. She covered him up with a thick quilt brought from her own quarters,—for he was shivering with cold,—rubbed his throbbing head, and at last soothed him into quietness and sleep. Then she went after Diggory Hutchinson, and commanded him to watch by Roger during the night; and Diggory, being a slave to her, did it.
Next morning early, Bess was at Roger’s bedside. He was himself then, as far as liquor went, but the devil still possessed him.
“Why did you not let me die?” he said sullenly. “It’s better than being in prison.”
“Now, that’s because you are a countryman,” replied Bess, briskly. “They always take on worse than any others. They want to be out in the fields, a-hunting and what not. But you’ll be out yet; some day, they’ll get tired of keeping you. Haven’t you got some relations or friends in London that might come to see you?”
Roger shook his head.
“I know scarce any one in London, and all my relations and friends that I care anything about are in the South, or with the King in France.”
Bess nodded her head gravely, and, the two being alone, she said,—