“And I was so happy here.”
“Happier than at home, dear lad?” I said.
“What? Home?”
“Ay, and sorry I shall be to see you go, though I wouldn’t believe you once.”
“Then you’ve brought me news?”
“Yes, lad, this,” I cried, slapping a blue paper into his hand. “They let me bring it; me, the man whose life you saved.”
He stared at me, as if he could not hear a word, and his face looked blank and strange.
“Nick, lad, don’t you hear me? I tell you, it’s a free pardon—in the Queen’s name, though, hang me! if I believe you did that wrong.”
“A pardon!” he cried, “for me!” and he tore the paper open and tried to read; then I saw him stagger, but he recovered himself, sank down on his knees, and held the paper to his lips.
“Thank God!” he gasped; and then in a wild, hysterical voice—