“To what good purpose?” said Julian, shortly connecting, as was natural, the man’s proposed civility with the advice given and the signal prescribed in the letter.
“Nay, to no good purpose I know of,” said the turnkey; “only it is the fashion to seem white and harmless—a sort of token of not-guiltiness, as I may say, which folks desire to show the world, whether they be truly guilty or not; but I cannot say that guiltiness or not-guiltiness argufies much, saving they be words in the verdict.”
“Strange,” thought Peveril, although the man seemed to speak quite naturally, and without any double meaning, “strange that all should apparently combine to realise the plan of escape, could I but give my consent to it! And had I not better consent? Whoever does so much for me must wish me well, and a well-wisher would never enforce the unjust conditions on which I am required to consent to my liberation.”
But this misgiving of his resolution was but for a moment. He speedily recollected, that whoever aided him in escaping, must be necessarily exposed to great risk, and had a right to name the stipulation on which he was willing to incur it. He also recollected that falsehood is equally base, whether expressed in words or in dumb show; and that he should lie as flatly by using the signal agreed upon in evidence of his renouncing Alice Bridgenorth, as he would in direct terms if he made such renunciation without the purpose of abiding by it.
“If you would oblige me,” he said to the turnkey, “let me have a piece of black silk or crape for the purpose you mention.”
“Of crape!” said the fellow; “what should that signify? Why, the bien morts, who bing out to tour at you,[*] will think you a chimney-sweeper on Mayday.”
[*] The smart girls, who turn out to look at you.
“It will show my settled sorrow,” said Julian, “as well as my determined resolution.”
“As you will, sir,” answered the fellow; “I’ll provide you with a black rag of some kind or other. So, now; let us be moving.”
