CHAPTER XXVIII. LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES

,mostphilosophically. “I’lltellyouwhatitis,gentlemen,”saidhe,“we’reallafraid.” “Speakforyourself,sir,”saidMr.Giles,whowasthepalestoftheparty. “SoIdo,”repliedtheman.“It’snaturalandpropertobeafraid,undersuchcircumstances.Iam.” “SoamI,”saidBrittles“onlythere’snocalltotellamanheis,sobounceably.” ThesefrankadmissionssoftenedMr.Giles,whoatonceownedthathewasafraiduponwhich,theyallthreefacedabout,andranbackagainwiththecompletestunanimity,untilMr.Giles(whohadtheshortestwindoftheparty,aswasencumberedwithapitchfork)mosthandsomelyinsistedonstopping,tomakeanapologyforhishastinessofspeech. “Butit’swonderful,”saidMr.Giles,whenhehadexplained,“whatamanwilldo,whenhisbloodisup.Ishouldhavecommittedmurder—IknowIshould—ifwe’dcaughtoneofthemrascals.” Astheothertwowereimpressedwithasimilarpresentimentandastheirblood,likehis,hadallgonedownagainsomespeculationensueduponthecauseofthissuddenchangeintheirtemperament. “Iknowwhatitwas,”saidMr.Giles“itwasthegate.” “Ishouldn’twonderifitwas,”exclaimedBrittles,catchingattheidea. “Youmaydependuponit,”saidGiles,“thatthatgatestoppedtheflowoftheexcitement.Ifeltallminesuddenlygoingaway,asIwasclimbingoverit.” Byaremarkablecoincidence,theothertwohadbeenvisitedwiththesameunpleasantsensationatthatprecisemoment.Itwasquiteobvious,therefore,thatitwasthegateespeciallyastherewasnodoubtregardingthetimeatwhichthechangehadtakenplace,becauseallthreerememberedthattheyhadcomeinsightoftherobbersattheinstantofitsoccurance. Thisdialoguewasheldbetweenthetwomenwhohadsurprisedtheburglars,andatravellingtinkerwhohadbeensleepinginanouthouse,andwhohadbeenroused,togetherwithhistwomongrelcurs,tojoininthepursuit.Mr.GilesactedinthedoublecapacityofbutlerandstewardtotheoldladyofthemansionBrittleswasaladofall-work:who,havingenteredherserviceamerechild,wastreatedasapromisingyoungboystill,thoughhewassomethingpastthirty. Encouragingeachotherwithsuchconverseasthisbut,keepingveryclosetogether,notwithstanding,andlookingapprehensivelyround,wheneverafreshgustrattledthroughtheboughsthethreemenhurriedbacktoatree,behindwhichtheyhadlefttheirlantern,lestitslightshouldinformthethievesinwhatdirectiontofire.Catchingupthelight,theymadethebestoftheirwayhome,atagoodroundtrotandlongaftertheirduskyformshadceasedtobediscernible,thelightmighthavebeenseentwinklinganddancinginthedistance,likesomeexhalationofthedampandgloomyatmospherethroughwhichitwasswiftlyborne. Theairgrewcolder,asdaycameslowlyonandthemistrolledalongthegroundlikeadensecloudofsmoke.Thegrasswaswetthepathways,andlowplaces,wereallmireandwaterthedampbreathofanunwholesomewindwentlanguidlyby,withahollowmoaning.Still,OliverlaymotionlessandinsensibleonthespotwhereSikeshadlefthim. Morningdrewonapace.Theairbecomemoresharpandpiercing,asitsfirstdullhue—thedeathofnight,ratherthanthebirthofday—glimmeredfaintlyinthesky.Theobjectswhichhadlookeddimandterribleinthedarkness,grewmoreandmoredefined,andgraduallyresolvedintotheirfamiliarshapes.Theraincamedown,thickandfast,andpatterednoisilyamongtheleaflessbushes.But,Oliverfeltitnot,asitbeatagainsthimforhestilllaystretched,helplessandunconscious,onhisbedofclay. Atlength,alowcryofpainbrokethestillnessthatprevailedandutteringit,theboyawoke.Hisleftarm,rudelybandagedin