In a moment, with the wind cutting keenly at him sideways, he was staggering down to his boat; in a few moments he was clear, and creeping up the river under their own shore.
Eugene had raised himself on his elbow to look into the darkness after him. “I wish the boat of my honourable and gallant friend,” he murmured, lying down again and speaking into his hat, “may be endowed with philanthropy enough to turn bottom-upward and extinguish him!—Mortimer.”
“My honourable friend.”
“Three burglaries, two forgeries, and a midnight assassination.” Yet in spite of having those weights on his conscience, Eugene was somewhat enlivened by the late slight change in the circumstances of affairs. So were his two companions. Its being a change was everything. The suspense seemed to have taken a new lease, and to have begun afresh from a recent date. There was something additional to look for. They were all three more sharply on the alert, and less deadened by the miserable influences of the place and time.
More than an hour had passed, and they were even dozing, when one of the three—each said it was he, and he had not dozed—made out Riderhood in his boat at the spot agreed on. They sprang up, came out from their shelter, and went down to him. When he saw them coming, he dropped alongside the causeway; so that they, standing on the causeway, could speak with him in whispers, under the shadowy mass of the Six Jolly Fellowship Porters fast asleep.
“Blest if I can make it out!” said he, staring at them.
“Make what out? Have you seen him?”
“No.”