The mate returned after a very short absence, and quietly took his place at table.
‘Did you tell him?’ said Tom. Bates answered, ‘Yes.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He eyed me with a wicked look and made no reply. His eyes have gone bloodshot and shine queerly. There’s a hardness in that chap’s countenance that makes me believe he’ll never shell out.’
‘It will not matter,’ said I, ‘we have evidence enough. They’ll never refuse us a free pardon on what we have.’
‘A free pardon!’ exclaimed Tom, looking at me.
‘Yes—certainly,’ said Mr. Bates, gravely cutting himself a piece of salt beef; ‘your innocence is already established; nothing to go through now but a sort of form which the lawyers will put you up to.’
‘Uncle Johnstone will do everything for us,’ said I; ‘and, oh!’ I half shrieked, clapping my hands, ‘the joy I shall feel in seeing him read Nodder’s confession!’
Tom’s face was moody and dark.
‘I’ll not ask for nor would I accept a free pardon!’ he exclaimed. ‘For what am I to be pardoned, and what to me would be the particular virtue of a pardon?’ he added sarcastically. ‘When I sailed out of the Thames in a convict ship, I left England for ever. What could induce me to dwell in a land I abominate, among a people I detest?’