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While some stooped with their lips to the brink and never raised
their heads again； others sprang up from their fiery draught； and
danced； half in a mad triumph； and half in the agony of
suffocation； until they fell； and steeped their corpses in the liquor
that had killed them。 Nor was even this the worst or most
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appalling kind of death that happened on this fatal night。 From
the burning cellars； where they drank out of hats； pails； buckets；
tubs； and shoes； some men were drawn； alive； but all alight from
head to foot； who； in their unendurable anguish and suffering；
making for anything that had the look of water； rolled； hissing； in
this hideous lake； and splashed up liquid fire which lapped in all it
met with as it ran along the surface； and neither spared the living
nor the dead。 On this last night of the great riots—for the last night
it was—the wretched victims of a senseless outcry； became
themselves the dust and ashes of the flames they had kindled； and
strewed the public streets of London。
With all he saw in this last glance fixed indelibly upon his mind；
Barnaby hurried from the city which enclosed such horrors； and
holding down his head that he might not even see the glare of the
fires upon the quiet landscape； was soon in the still country roads。
He stopped at about half…a…mile from the shed where his father
lay； and with some difficulty making Hugh sensible that he must
dismount； sunk the horse’s furniture in a pool of stagnant water；
and turned the animal loose。 That done； he supported his
companion as well as he could； and led him slowly forward。
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Chapter 69
t was the dead of night； and very dark； when Barnaby； with
his stumbling comrade； approached the place where he had
I
left his father； but he could see him stealing away into the
gloom； distrustful even of him； and rapidly retreating。 After calling
to him twice or thrice that there was nothing to fear； but without
effect； he suffered Hugh to sink upon the ground； and followed to
bring him back。
He continued to creep away； until Barnaby was close upon him；
then turned； and said in a terrible； though suppressed voice：
‘Let me go。 Do not lay hands upon me。 You have told her； and
you and she together have betrayed me！’
Barnaby looked at him； in silence。
‘You have seen your mother！’
‘No；’ cried Barnaby； eagerly。 ‘Not for a long time—longer than I
can tell。 A whole year； I think。 Is she here？’
His father looked upon him steadfastly for a few moments； and
then said—drawing nearer to him as he spoke； for； seeing his face；
and hearing his words； it was impossible to doubt his truth：
‘What man is that？’
‘Hugh—Hugh。 Only Hugh。 You know him。 He will not harm
you。 Why； you’re afraid of Hugh！ Ha ha ha！ Afraid of gruff； old；
noisy Hugh！’
‘What man is he； I ask you；’ he rejoined so fiercely； that
Barnaby stopped in his laugh； and shrinking back； surveyed him
with a look of terrified amazement。
‘Why； how stern you are！ You make me fear you； though you
are my father。 Why do you speak to me so？’
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—‘I want；’ he answered； putting away the hand which his son；
with a timid desire to propitiate him； laid upon his sleeve；—‘I want
an answer； and you give me only jeers and questions。 Who have
you brought with you to this hiding…place； poor fool； and where is
the blind man？’
‘I don’t know where。 His house was close shut。 I waited； but no
person came； that was no fault of mine。 This is Hugh—brave
Hugh； who broke into that ugly jail； and set us free。 Aha！ You like
him now； do you？ You like him now！’
‘Why does he lie upon the ground？’
‘He has had a fall； and has been drinking。 The fields and trees
go round； and round； and round with him； and the ground heaves
under his feet。 You know him？ You remember？ See！’
They had by this time returned to where he lay； and both
stooped over him to look into his face。
‘I recollect the man；’ his father murmured。 ‘Why did you bring
him here？’
‘Because he would have been killed if I had left him over
yonder。 They were firing guns and shedding blood。 Does the sight
of blood turn you sick； father？ I see it does； by your face。 That’s
like me—What are you looking at？’
‘At nothing！’ said the murderer softly； as he started back a pace
or two； and gazed with sunken jaw and staring eyes above his
son’s head。 ‘At nothing！’
He remained in the same attitude and with the same expression
on his face for a minute or more； then glanced slowly round as if
he had lost something； and went shivering back； towards the shed。
‘Shall I bring him in； father？’ asked Barnaby； who had looked
on； wondering。
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He only answered with a suppressed groan； and lying down
upon the ground； wrapped his cloak about his head； and shrunk
into the darkest corner。
Finding that nothing would rouse Hugh now； or make him
sensible for a moment； Barnaby dragged him along the grass； and
laid him on a little heap of refuse hay and straw which had been
his own bed； first having brought some water from a running
stream hard by； and washed his wound； and laved his hands and
face。 Then he lay down himself； between the two； to pass the
night； and looking at the stars； fell fast asleep。
Awakened early in the morning； by the sunshine and the songs
of birds； and hum of insects； he left them sleeping in the hut； and
walked into the sweet and pleasant air。 But he felt that on his
jaded senses； oppressed and bu