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forward； that he might not attract attention by seeming to belong
to it。
The wisdom of this proceeding was sufficiently obvious； for as
they hurried through the city they passed among several groups of
men； who； if they had not supposed the chaise to be quite empty；
would certainly have stopped it。 But those within keeping quite
close； and the driver tarrying to be asked no questions； they
reached the prison without interruption； and； once there； had him
out； and safe within its gloomy walls； in a twinkling。
With eager eyes and strained attention； Mr Haredale saw him
chained； and locked and barred up in his cell。 Nay； when he had
left the jail； and stood in the free street； without； he felt the iron
plates upon the doors； with his hands； and drew them over the
stone wall； to assure himself that it was real； and to exult in its
being so strong； and rough； and cold。 It was not until he turned his
back upon the jail； and glanced along the empty streets； so lifeless
and quiet in the bright morning； that he felt the weight upon his
heart； that he knew he was tortured by anxiety for those he had
left at home； and that home itself was but another bead in the long
rosary of his regrets。
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Chapter 62
he prisoner； left to himself； sat down upon his bedstead：
and resting his elbows on his knees； and his chin upon his
T
hands； remained in that attitude for hours。 It would be
hard to say； of what nature his reflections were。 They had no
distinctness； and； saving for some flashes now and then； no
reference to his condition or the train of circumstances by which it
had been brought about。 The cracks in the pavement of his cell；
the chinks in the wall where stone was joined to stone； the bars in
the window； the iron ring upon the floor；—such things as these；
subsiding strangely into one another； and awakening an
indescribable kind of interest and amusement； engrossed his
whole mind； and although at the bottom of his every thought there
was an uneasy sense of guilt； and dread of death； he felt no more
than that vague consciousness of it； which a sleeper has of pain。 It
pursues him through his dreams； gnaws at the heart of all his
fancied pleasures； robs the banquet of its taste； music of its
sweetness； makes happiness itself unhappy； and yet is no bodily
sensation； but a phantom without shape； or form； or visible
presence； pervading everything； but having no existence；
recognisable everywhere； but nowhere seen； or touched； or met
with face to face； until the sleep is past； and waking agony returns。
After a long time the door of his cell opened。 He looked up； saw
the blind man enter； and relapsed into his former position。
Guided by his breathing； the visitor advanced to where he sat；
and stopping beside him； and stretching out his hand to assure
himself that he was right； remained； for a good space； silent。
‘This is bad； Rudge。 This is bad；’ he said at length。
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The prisoner shuffled with his feet upon the ground in turning
his body from him； but made no other answer。
‘How were you taken？’ he asked。 ‘And where？ You never told
me more than half your secret。 No matter； I know it now。 How was
it； and where； eh？’ he asked again； coming still nearer to him。
‘At Chigwell；’ said the other。
‘At Chigwell！ How came you there？’
‘Because I went there to avoid the man I stumbled on；’ he
answered。 ‘Because I was chased and driven there； by him and
Fate。 Because I was urged to go there； by something stronger than
my own will。 When I found him watching in the house she used to
live in； night after night； I knew I never could escape him—never！
and when I heard the Bell—’
He shivered； muttered that it was very cold； paced quickly up
and down the narrow cell； and sitting down again； fell into his old
posture。
‘You were saying；’ said the blind man； after another pause； ‘that
when you heard the Bell—’
‘Let it be； will you？’ he retorted in a hurried voice。 ‘It hangs
there yet。’
The blind man turned a wistful and inquisitive face towards
him； but he continued to speak； without noticing him。
‘I went to Chigwell； in search of the mob。 I have been so hunted
and beset by this man； that I knew my only hope of safety lay in
joining them。 They had gone on before； I followed them when it
left off。’
‘When what left off？’
‘The Bell。 They had quitted the place。 I hoped that some of
them might be still lingering among the ruins； and was searching
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for them when I heard—’ he drew a long breath； and wiped his
forehead with his sleeve—‘his voice。’
‘Saying what？’
‘No matter what。 I don’t know。 I was then at the foot of the
turret； where I did the—’
‘Ay；’ said the blind man； nodding his head with perfect
composure； ‘I understand。’
‘I climbed the stair； or so much of it as was left； meaning to hide
till he had gone。 But he heard me； and followed almost as soon as I
set foot upon the ashes。’
‘You might have hidden in the wall； and thrown him down； or
stabbed him；’ said the blind man。
‘Might I？ Between that man and me； was one who led him on—
I saw it； though he did not—and raised above his head a bloody
hand。 It was in the room above that he and I stood glaring at each
other on the night of the murder； and before he fell he raised his
hand like that； and fixed his eyes on me。 I knew the chase would
end there。’
‘You have a strong fancy；’ said the blind man； with a smile。
‘Strengthen yours with blood； and see what it will come to。’
He groaned； and rocked himself； and looking up for the first
time； said； in a low； hollow voice：
‘Eight…and…twenty years！ Eight…and…twenty years！ He has never
changed in all that time； never grown older； nor altered in the
least degree。 He has been before me in the dark night； and the
broad sunny day； in the twilight； the moonlight； the sunlight； the
light of fire； and lamp； and candle； and in the deepest gloom。
Always the same！ In company； in solitude； on land； on shipboard；
sometimes leaving me alone for months； and sometimes always
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with me。 I have seen him； at sea； come gliding in the dead of night
along the bright reflection of the moon in the calm water； and I
have seen him； on quays and market…places； with his hand
uplifted； towering； the centre of a busy crowd； unconscious of the
terrible form that had its silent stand among them。 Fancy！ Are you
real？ Am I？ Are these iron fetters； riveted on me by the smith’s
hammer； or are they fancies I can shatter at a blow？’
The blind man listened in silence。
‘Fancy！ Do I fancy that I killed him？ Do I fancy that as I left the
chamber where he lay； I saw the face of a man peeping from a
dark door； who plainly showed me by his fearful looks that he
suspected what I had done？ Do I remember that I spoke fairly to
him—that I drew nearer—nearer yet—with the hot knife in my
sleeve？ Do I fancy how he died？ Did he stagger back into the angle
of the wall into which I had hemmed