CHAPTER XLVIII. THE FLIGHT OF SIKES

Ofallbaddeedsthat,undercoverofthedarkness,hadbeencommittedwithinwideLondon’sboundssincenighthungoverit,thatwastheworst.Ofallthehorrorsthatrosewithanillscentuponthemorningair,thatwasthefoulestandmostcruel. Thesun—thebrightsun,thatbringsback,notlightalone,butnewlife,andhope,andfreshnesstoman—burstuponthecrowdedcityinclearandradiantglory.Throughcostly-colouredglassandpaper-mendedwindow,throughcathedraldomeandrottencrevice,itsheditsequalray.Itlighteduptheroomwherethemurderedwomanlay.Itdid.Hetriedtoshutitout,butitwouldstreamin.Ifthesighthadbeenaghastlyoneinthedullmorning,whatwasit,now,inallthatbrilliantlight! Hehadnotmovedhehadbeenafraidtostir.Therehadbeenamoanandmotionofthehandand,withterroraddedtorage,hehadstruckandstruckagain.Oncehethrewarugoveritbutitwasworsetofancytheeyes,andimaginethemmovingtowardshim,thantoseethemglaringupward,asifwatchingthereflectionofthepoolofgorethatquiveredanddancedinthesunlightontheceiling.Hehadpluckeditoffagain.Andtherewasthebody—merefleshandblood,nomore—butsuchflesh,andsomuchblood! Hestruckalight,kindledafire,andthrusttheclubintoit.Therewashairupontheend,whichblazedandshrunkintoalightcinder,and,caughtbytheair,whirledupthechimney.Eventhatfrightenedhim,sturdyashewasbutheheldtheweapontillitbroke,andthenpileditonthecoalstoburnaway,andsmoulderintoashes.Hewashedhimself,andrubbedhisclothestherewerespotsthatwouldnotberemoved,buthecutthepiecesout,andburntthem.Howthosestainsweredispersedabouttheroom!Theveryfeetofthedogwerebloody. Allthistimehehad,neveronce,turnedhisbackuponthecorpseno,notforamoment.Suchpreparationscompleted,hemoved,backward,towardsthedoor:draggingthedogwithhim,lestheshouldsoilhisfeetanewandcarryoutnewevidenceofthecrimeintothestreets.Heshutthedoorsoftly,lockedit,tookthekey,andleftthehouse. Hecrossedover,andglancedupatthewindow,tobesurethatnothingwasvisiblefromtheoutside.Therewasthecurtainstilldrawn,whichshewouldhaveopenedtoadmitthelightsheneversawagain.Itlaynearlyunderthere.Heknewthat.God,howthesunpoureddownupontheveryspot! Theglancewasinstantaneous.Itwasarelieftohavegotfreeoftheroom.Hewhistledonthedog,andwalkedrapidlyaway. HewentthroughIslingtonstrodeupthehillatHighgateonwhichstandsthestoneinhonourofWhittingtonturneddowntoHighgateHill,unsteadyofpurpose,anduncertainwheretogostruckofftotherightagain,almostassoonashebegantodescenditandtakingthefoot-pathacrossthefields,skirtedCaenWood,andsocameonHampsteadHeath.TraversingthehollowbytheValeofHeath,hemountedtheoppositebank,andcrossingtheroadwhichjoinsthevillagesofHampsteadandHighgate,madealongtheremainingportionoftheheathtothefieldsatNorthEnd,inoneofwhichhelaidhimselfdownunderahedge,andslept. Soonhewasupagain,andaway,—notfarintothecountry,butbacktowardsLondonbythehigh-road—thenbackagain—thenoveranotherpartofthesamegroundashealreadytraversed—thenwanderingupanddowninfields,andlyingonditches’brinkstorest,andstartinguptomakeforsomeotherspot,anddothesame,andrambleonagain. Wherecouldhego,thatwasnearandnottoopublic,togetsomemeatanddrink?Hendon.Thatwasagoodplace,notfaroff,andoutofmostpeople’sway.Thitherhedirectedhissteps,—runningsometimes,andsometimes,withastrangeperversity,loiteringatasnail’space,orstoppingaltoget