CHAPTER XXX.
_How we are discovered and utterly undone._
"What!" cries Dawson, catching his daughter in his arms and hugging herto his breast, when the first shock of surprise was past. "My own sweetMoll--come hither to warm her old father's heart?"
"And my own," says she, tenderly, "which I fear hath grown a littlewanting in love for ye since I have been mated. But, though my dear Dickdraws so deeply from my well of affection, there is still somewhere downhere" (clapping her hand upon her heart) "a source that first sprang foryou and can never dry."
"Aye, and 'tis a proof," says he, "your coming here where we may speakand act without restraint, though it be but for five minutes."
"Five minutes!" cries she, springing up with her natural vivacity, "why,I'll not leave you before the morning, unless you weary of me." And thenwith infinite relish and sly humour, she told of her device for leavingthe Court without suspicion.
I do confess I was at first greatly alarmed for the safe issue of thisescapade; but she assuring me 'twas a dirty night, and she had passed noone on the road, I felt a little reassured. To be sure, thinks I, Mr.Godwin by some accident may return, but finding her gone, and hearingCaptain Evans keeps me to my house, he must conclude she has comehither, and think no harm of her for that neither--seeing we are oldfriends and sobered with years, for 'tis the most natural thing in theworld that, feeling lonely and dejected for the loss of her husband, sheshould seek such harmless diversion as may be had in our society.
However, for the sake of appearances I thought it would be wise to getthis provision of ham and birds out of sight, for fear of misadventure,and also I took instant precaution to turn the key in my street door.Being but two men, and neither of us over-nice in the formalities, I hadset a cheese, a loaf, and a bottle betwixt us on the bare table of myoffice room, for each to serve himself as he would; but I now proposedthat, having a lady in our company, we should pay more regard to thedecencies by going upstairs to my parlour, and there laying a tableclothand napkins for our repast.
"Aye, certainly!" cries Moll, who had grown mighty fastidious in theseparticulars since she had been mistress of Hurst Court; "this dirtytable would spoil the best appetite in the world."
So I carried a faggot and some apple logs upstairs, and soon had a bravefire leaping up the chimney, by which time Moll and her father, withabundant mirth, had set forth our victuals on a clean white cloth, andto each of us a clean plate, knife, and fork, most proper. Then, allthings being to our hand, we sat down and made a most hearty meal ofMrs. Butterby's good cheer, and all three of us as merry as grigs, withnot a shadow of misgiving.
There had seemed something piteous to me in that appeal of Moll's, thatshe might be herself for this night; and indeed I marvelled now how shecould have so trained her natural disposition to an artificial manner,and did no longer wonder at the look of fatigue and weariness in herface on her return to London. For the old reckless, careless, daredevilspirit was still alive in her, as I could plainly see now that sheabandoned herself entirely to the free sway of impulse; the old twinkleof mirth and mischief was in her eyes; she was no longer a fine lady,but a merry vagabond again, and when she laughed 'twas with her handsclasping her sides, her head thrown back, and all her white teethgleaming in the light.
"Now," says I, when at length our meal was finished, "I will clear thetable."
"Hoop!" cries she, catching up the corners of the tablecloth, andflinging them over the fragments; "'tis done. Let us draw round thefire, and tell old tales. Here's a pipe, dear dad; I love the smell oftobacco; and you" (to me) "do fetch me a pipkin, that I may brew a gooddrink to keep our tongues going."
About the time this drink was brewed, Simon, leading Mr. Godwin by acircuitous way, came through the garden to the back of the house, wherewas a door, which I had never opened for lack of a key to fit the lock.This key was now in Simon's hand, and putting it with infinite care intothe hole, he softly turned it in the wards. Then, with the likeprecaution, he lifts the latch and gently thrusts the door open,listening at every inch to catch the sounds within. At length 'tisopened wide; and so, turning his face to Mr. Godwin, who waits behind,sick with mingled shame and creeping dread, he beckons him to follow.
Above, Dawson was singing at the top of his voice, a sea-song he hadlearnt of a mariner at the inn he frequented at Greenwich, with a trollat the end, taken up by Moll and me. And to hear his wife's voicebearing part in this rude song, made Mr. Godwin's heart to sink withinhim. Under cover of this noise, Simon mounted the stairs withouthesitation, Mr. Godwin following at his heels, in a kind of sickbewilderment. 'Twas pitch dark up there, and Simon, stretching forth hishands to know if Mr. Godwin was by, touched his hand, which was deadlycold and quivering; for here at the door he was seized with a sweatingfaintness, which so sapped his vigour that he was forced to hold by thewall to save himself from falling.
"Art thee ready?" asks Simon; but he can get no answer, for Mr. Godwin'senergies, quickened by a word from within like a jaded beast by thesting of a whip, is straining his ears to catch what is passing within.And what hears he?--The song is ended, and Dawson cries:
"You han't lost your old knack of catching a tune, Moll. Come hither,wench, and sit upon my knee, for I do love ye more than ever. Give me abuss, chuck; this fine husband of thine shall not have all thy sweetnessto himself."
At this moment, Simon, having lifted the latch under his thumb, pusheswide open the door, and there through the thick cloud of tobacco smokeMr. Godwin sees the table in disorder, the white cloth flung back overthe remnants of our repast and stained with a patch of liquor from anoverturned mug, a smutty pipkin set upon the board beside a dish oftobacco, and a broken pipe--me sitting o' one side the hearth heavy anddrowsy with too much good cheer, and on t'other side his young wife,sitting on Dawson's knee, with one arm about his neck, and he in hisuncouth seaman's garb, with a pipe in one hand, the other about Moll'swaist, a-kissing her yielded cheek. With a cry of fury, like any wildbeast, he springs forward and clutches at a knife that lies ready to hishand upon the board, and this cry is answered with a shriek from Moll asshe starts to her feet.
"Who is this drunken villain?" he cries, stretching the knife in hishand towards Dawson.
And Moll, flinging herself betwixt the knife and Dawson, with fear forhis life, and yet with some dignity in her voice and gesture, answersswiftly:
"This drunken villain is my father."