He had not gone five yards, however,
when he tripped and fell, and before he could rise I was standing
over him. He lay there at my feet, perfectly still, blinking up
at me with red-rimmed eyes.
"All right, master," he said at last; "you've got me!" But with
the words he suddenly rolled himself towards the river, yet as he
struggled to his knees I pinned him down again.
"Oh, sir! you won't go for to give me up to them?" he panted. "I've
never done you no wrong. For God's sake don't send me back to it
again, sir."
"'Course not," cried the Imp, laying his hand upon my arm; "this is
only Uncle Dick. He won't hurt you, will you, Uncle Dick?"
"That depends," I answered, keeping tight hold of the tattered coat
collar. "Tell me, what brings you hanging round here?"
"Used to live up in these parts once, master."
"Who are you?"
"Convict 49, as broke jail over a week ago an' would ha' died but
for the little 'un there," and he nodded towards the Imp.
The convict, as I say, was a tall, thin fellow, with a cadaverous
face lined with suffering, while the hair at his temples was
prematurely white.
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