On the homeward row, I did my best to drive out of my mind all thought of this ancient mariner, and his story. And he feigned not to be thinking of it; though I caught his wrinkled eyelids dropping suddenly at the sudden glances which I cast upon him. He was watching me narrowly, when I looked away; and I thought it likely that he would land again when he had discharged us, and try to learn all about me in the village. For we at Sunbury knew but little of the Shepperton people at that time, looking on it rather as a goose-green sort of place, benighted, and rustic, and adverse to good manners. Shepperton, without equal ground, despised us, as a set of half-Cockneys, and truckling for the money of London, which they very nobly contemned, because they got so little of it. If anything exciting came to pass at Sunbury, these odd people shrugged their shoulders, and talked about Bow Street, and Newgate, and the like; as if they belonged to Middlesex, and we to London. However, there can be no doubt which is the finer village.
I was much dissatisfied with myself, when I came to think of it, for allowing as I did this boatman’s story so to dwell upon my mind, that even the fair invalid in the stern lost many little due attentions. But happily she fell fast asleep, being sweetly lulled by the soft fine air, and the dreamy melody of waters. Her long eyelashes lay flat in the delicate hollows of her clear white cheeks, where a faint tinge of rose began to steal, like the breath of a baby angel.
“How beautiful she looks!” I whispered to her father, as he gazed at her; and he answered—“Yes. How can I bear it? It is the beauty of a better world.”
But he was in livelier mood about her, when we took her gently home; and she rose from the chair with a rally of strength, and he said, “Well, Bessy, how do you feel now?”
“As if I wanted a good tea,” she answered; “and as if I never could thank this gentleman for the pleasure he has given us.”
I wondered whether in trying ever so feebly to give pleasure, I might have won, without earning, some great good for myself; and off I went (after proper words) to follow the course of the Duchess.
In a minute or two, I had gained a spot which commanded the course of the river; and there I perceived that the unmistakable Moggs, instead of hastening home, was resting on his oars to watch the bank, and make sure that no one was watching him. I slipped into a quiet niche, which made me think of Kitty; for here I had seen her surveying the flood, in the days of my early love for her. It had been a happy place that day; would it help me once again?
Presently Moggs made up his mind, if haply it had been wavering; and pulling into the evening shadows, sought a convenient landing-place. Then he fastened the Duchess to a stump, and stiffly made his way towards that snug little hostelry the Blue Anchor, favoured by most of our waterside folk.
“That will do,” thought I; “he has conquered his contempt of Sunbury. He is going to pick up all he can about me. There must be something in it. And now for the Molesey story.”
Without delay I returned to our village, and through it hastened to the landing, where our ancient boat was kept. There was no fear of meeting Moggs down here, for he was a good half-mile above. Pulling leisurely down stream, I began to think how stupid we had been in our inquiries, at least if my present idea proved correct. But the policemen, to whom we had entrusted the first part of the search, must bear the blame of this stupidity. They had not failed to make inquiry among the boatmen, and along the river; although their attention had been directed chiefly to the roads and railway. But they had assumed throughout that the fugitive must have gone towards London, and as regarded the Thames, they had only cared to inquire much down stream. Up the river there was as yet no railway, and no important road; and with their usual density, they had searched but very vaguely hereabout.