In one of these, therefore, he had bestowed Harry.
“Let me,” I said, “go in first, and speak with him. Do you come presently.”
I think if I had known, beforehand, what they were going to do, I might have relented—but no: anything was better than that those two men should stand, sword in hand, face to face, trying to kill each other for the sake of an unworthy girl.
Yet the poor lad, whom I had ever loved like a brother, looked in piteous case; for they had put the strait-waistcoat over him, which pinned his arms to his sides, and a chain about his waist which was fastened to the wall behind him; his wig was lying on the floor; he seemed wet through, which was the natural effect of those savage keepers’ buckets; his face wore a look of rage and despair sad to behold: his eyes glared like the eyes of a bull at a baiting.
“You here, Kitty?” he cried. “You? What is the meaning of you in this house?”
“Harry, there has been, it seems a very terrible blunder committed by Dr. Powlett’s servants; they were told you were a certain escaped madman, and they arrested you in the discharge of their duty. It is most fortunate that the fact has been brought to my ears, because I could hasten——”
“Then quick, Kitty, quick!” he cried. “Go, call the doctor, and set me free. It may not yet be too late. Quick, Kitty! They are waiting for me.”
He forgot, I suppose, what this “waiting” might mean to me.
“Who are waiting, Harry?”
He did not reply.