Passive and timid, scared, pale, and wondering, and gazing at thethrong as if he were newly risen from the dead, and felt himself aghost among the living, Barnaby--not Barnaby in the spirit, but inflesh and blood, with pulses, sinews, nerves, and beating heart,and strong affections--clung to his stout old friend, and followedwhere he led.
And thus, in course of time, they reached the door, held ready fortheir entrance by no unwilling hands. Then slipping in, andshutting out the crowd by main force, Gabriel stood between Mr Haredale and Edward Chester, and Barnaby, rushing up the stairs,fell upon his knees beside his mother"s bed.
"Such is the blessed end, sir," cried the panting locksmith, to MrHaredale, "of the best day"s work we ever did. The rogues! it"sbeen hard fighting to get away from "em. I almost thought, once ortwice, they"d have been too much for us with their kindness!"
They had striven, all the previous day, to rescue Barnaby from hisimpending fate. Failing in their attempts, in the first quarterto which they addressed themselves, they renewed them in another.
Failing there, likewise, they began afresh at midnight; and madetheir way, not only to the judge and jury who had tried him, but tomen of influence at court, to the young Prince of Wales, and evento the ante-chamber of the King himself. Successful, at last, inawakening an interest in his favour, and an inclination to inquiremore dispassionately into his case, they had had an interview withthe minister, in his bed, so late as eight o"clock that morning.
The result of a searching inquiry (in which they, who had known thepoor fellow from his childhood, did other good service, besidesbringing it about) was, that between eleven and twelve o"clock, afree pardon to Barnaby Rudge was made out and signed, and entrustedto a horse-soldier for instant conveyance to the place of execution. This courier reached the spot just as the cart appearedin sight; and Barnaby being carried back to jail, Mr Haredale,assured that all was safe, had gone straight from Bloomsbury Squareto the Golden Key, leaving to Gabriel the grateful task of bringinghim home in triumph.
"I needn"t say," observed the locksmith, when he had shaken handswith all the males in the house, and hugged all the females, fiveand-forty times, at least, "that, except among ourselves, I didn"twant to make a triumph of it. But, directly we got into the streetwe were known, and this hubbub began. Of the two," he added, as hewiped his crimson face, "and after experience of both, I think I"drather be taken out of my house by a crowd of enemies, thanescorted home by a mob of friends!"
It was plain enough, however, that this was mere talk on Gabriel"spart, and that the whole proceeding afforded him the keenestdelight; for the people continuing to make a great noise without,and to cheer as if their voices were in the freshest order, andgood for a fortnight, he sent upstairs for Grip (who had come homeat his master"s back, and had acknowledged the favours of themultitude by drawing blood from every finger that came within hisreach), and with the bird upon his arm presented himself at the first-floor window, and waved his hat again until it dangled by ashred, between his finger and thumb. This demonstration havingbeen received with appropriate shouts, and silence being in somedegree restored, he thanked them for their sympathy; and taking theliberty to inform them that there was a sick person in the house,proposed that they should give three cheers for King George, threemore for Old England, and three more for nothing particular, as aclosing ceremony. The crowd assenting, substituted Gabriel Vardenfor the nothing particular; and giving him one over, for goodmeasure, dispersed in high good-humour.
What congratulations were exchanged among the inmates at the GoldenKey, when they were left alone; what an overflowing of joy andhappiness there was among them; how incapable it was of expressionin Barnaby"s own person; and how he went wildly from one toanother, until he became so far tranquillised, as to stretchhimself on the ground beside his mother"s couch and fall into adeep sleep; are matters that need not be told. And it is well theyhappened to be of this class, for they would be very hard to tell,were their narration ever so indispensable.
Before leaving this bright picture, it may be well to glance at adark and very different one which was presented to only a few eyes, that same night.
The scene was a churchyard; the time, midnight; the persons, EdwardChester, a clergyman, a grave-digger, and the four bearers of ahomely coffin. They stood about a grave which had been newly dug,and one of the bearers held up a dim lantern,--the only lightthere--which shed its feeble ray upon the book of prayer. Heplaced it for a moment on the coffin, when he and his companionswere about to lower it down. There was no inscription on the lid.
The mould fell solemnly upon the last house of this nameless man;and the rattling dust left a dismal echo even in the accustomedears of those who had borne it to its resting-place. The grave wasfilled in to the top, and trodden down. They all left the spottogether.
"You never saw him, living?" asked the clergyman, of Edward.
"Often, years ago; not knowing him for my brother."
"Never since?"
"Never. Yesterday, he steadily refused to see me. It was urged upon him, many times, at my desire."
"Still he refused? That was hardened and unnatural."
"Do you think so?"
"I infer that you do not?"
"You are right. We hear the world wonder, every day, at monstersof ingratitude. Did it never occur to you that it often looks formonsters of affection, as though they were things of course?"
They had reached the gate by this time, and bidding each other goodnight, departed on their separate ways.
