‘But why should he know of it?’ said Glossin, slipping a couple of guineas into Mac-Guffog’s hand.
The turnkey weighed the gold and looked sharp at Glossin. ‘Ay, ay, Mr. Glossin, ye ken the ways o’ this place. Lookee, at lock-up hour I’ll return and bring ye upstairs to him. But ye must stay a’ night in his cell, for I am under needcessity to carry the keys to the captain for the night, and I cannot let you out again until morning; then I’ll visit the wards half an hour earlier than usual, and ye may get out and be snug in your ain birth when the captain gangs his rounds.’
When the hour of ten had pealed from the neighbouring steeple Mac-Guffog came prepared with a small dark lantern. He said softly to Glossin, ‘Slip your shoes off and follow me.’ When Glossin was out of the door, Mac-Guffog, as if in the execution of his ordinary duty, and speaking to a prisoner within, called aloud, ‘Good-night to you, sir,’ and locked the door, clattering the bolts with much ostentatious noise. He then guided Glossin up a steep and narrow stair, at the top of which was the door of the condemned ward; he unbarred and unlocked it, and, giving Glossin the lantern, made a sign to him to enter, and locked the door behind him with the same affected accuracy.
In the large dark cell into which he was thus introduced Glossin’s feeble light for some time enabled him to discover nothing. At length he could dimly distinguish the pallet-bed stretched on the floor beside the great iron bar which traversed the room, and on that pallet reposed the figure of a man. Glossin approached him. ‘Dirk Hatteraick!’
‘Donner and hagel! it is his voice,’ said the prisoner, sitting up and clashing his fetters as he rose; ‘then my dream is true! Begone, and leave me to myself; it will be your best.’
‘What! my good friend,’ said Glossin, ‘will you allow the prospect of a few weeks’ confinement to depress your spirit?’
‘Yes,’ answered the ruffian, sullenly, ‘when I am only to be released by a halter! Let me alone; go about your business, and turn the lamp from my face!’
‘Psha! my dear Dirk, don’t be afraid,’ said Glossin; ‘I have a glorious plan to make all right.’
‘To the bottomless pit with your plans!’ replied his accomplice; ‘you have planned me out of ship, cargo, and life; and I dreamt this moment that Meg Merrilies dragged you here by the hair and gave me the long clasped knife she used to wear; you don’t know what she said. Sturmwetter! it will be your wisdom not to tempt me!’
‘But, Hatteraick, my good friend, do but rise and speak to me,’ said Glossin.