It seemed now as though the lull in the weather was over; for after that one gust of wind, there came others; and in the course of a very short time, indeed, the surface of the water was much agitated, and such a howling noise was kept up by the wind, that Todd thought every moment that he heard the voices of his foes. "What am I to do now?" he said. "Oh, what am I to do? I dare not wait here until daylight. That would be destruction. What is to become of me?"
He came round the sides of the barge with the hope that some wherry had been moored to it, but he found that that hope was a fallacious one indeed. There was the gloomy-looking vessel moored far out in the stream, with him as its only passenger.
Any one without Todd's load of guilt upon his soul, and upon better terms with human nature, could soon have got assistance, for the distance from the shore was by no means so great but that his voice must have been heard had he chosen to exert it; but that would not do for him. He dreaded that his presence upon the barge should be known, and yet he alike dreaded that the morning's light should come shiningly upon him, without any boat coming to take him off.
To be sure, the two men who had brought him there had made a half-promise to come to his aid, but he felt certain he could not depend upon their doing so. The look with which they had regarded him upon the doubt, even, that he might be so frightful a criminal as he really was, was sufficient to convince him that while that doubt remained they would not return.
"And what," he said, "is to dissipate the doubt? Nothing—nothing! But anything may confirm it. Accidents always tell for the truth—never to its prevention, and so I am lost—lost—quite lost."
The bitterness of death seemed almost to be upon the point of assailing Todd. He could fancy that spirits of the murdered shrieked and wailed around him, as the wind whistled by his trembling frame.
In this wretched state an hour passed, and then Todd thought he heard a voice.
"What is that?" he said. "Oh, what is that?"
He inclined his head as low down to the edge of the water as he could get it, and heard distinctly some one singing to the stroke of a pair of oars, as they were deliberately dipped into the stream. The voice sounded like that of some young lad, and a hope of succour sprung up in the breast of Todd.
In the course of a few moments he became perfectly convinced that the boat was approaching the barge, and he shrunk down so that by being prematurely seen he might not alarm the boy who was rowing down the stream. The song continued, and it was quite evident from the manner in which the boy sung it, that he was quite delighted with his own powers in that line.
"I must speak to him," thought Todd. "If I let him pass there may not be another chance, now. I must speak to this boy, and speak to him freely too. He comes—he comes."
It was not so dark but that Todd could see pretty well the surface of the river, and presently in dusky outline he was conscious of the approach of a wherry in which was a boy, and he could see how the boy moved his head to and fro to the tune that he was amusing himself with.
"Hilloa!" cried Todd.
Now Todd in this "Hilloa!" had for once in a way tuned his voice to such a gentle pleasant sound, that it was quite a wonder to hear it, and he was rather himself surprised at the manner in which he managed it so as not to be at all alarming.
The boy stopped rowing and looked about him. It was evident at the moment that he could not tell where the sound came from.
"Hilloa!" said Todd, again.
"Ay—ay!" said the boy; "where are you?"
"Here, my dear," said Todd, "on board of the barge, bless you. How are you, my fine fellow—eh?"
"Oh, I'm pretty well. Who are you?"
"Why, don't you know me? I'm Mr. Smith. How is your father, my lad—eh?"
"Oh, father's all right enough; but I didn't know as he knowed a Mr. Smith at all."
"Oh, yes, he does. Everybody knows a Mr. Smith. Come on, you can give me a lift to shore off the barge here. This way. Just step up to the side and I'll step into your pretty little wherry. And so your father is quite well—eh, my fine lad? Do you know I was afraid he had caught a little cold, and really have been quite uneasy about him."
"Have you?" said the boy, as he pulled up to the side of the barge. "Where do you want to go to?"
"Oh, anywhere you happen to be going, that's all, my fine lad. How you do grow, to be sure!"
"But how came you here, out in the river on the dredging-barge? Do you belong to her?"
"To be sure I do. I am Mr. Deputy Inspector Dredger Smith, and am forced to come and superintend the barge, you see; but my boat that I sent to shore for something, has not come back, and I am getting cold, for I am not so young as you are, you know."
"Why, I don't suppose you is, sir," said the boy; "but I'll put you ashore, if you like."
"Thank you, I should like."
"Get in, then, sir. All's right. I'll hold on to the barge. Easy—easy with you, sir. That will do. Which side of the river, sir, would you like to be put ashore at, if you please?"
The boy was evidently deeply impressed with the importance of the title of Deputy Inspector Dredger, and was quite deferential to Todd.
How delighted was Todd to get off the barge! It seemed to him like a reprieve from death.
"Which way is the tide, boy?" he said.
"Running down, sir, but not fast."
"That will do. I will trouble you, then, to row with it as comfortably and as fast as you can.
"But I'm going, sir, to Westminster, to meet father. I can't go down the river, please sir. I would if I could. I said I would put you on shore on either side you like, and that's a waste of time, for the tide is getting fuller every minute, and it will be a hard pull against it, as it is. I can't go down the river, so don't ask me, sir; indeed I can't."
"Indeed?"
"No, sir. If I put you ashore, you will find ............