“I tell 'ee what, saltwater,” said Ben, “I'll lay you my fare--and that'll be two shillin'--I'm back in an hour.” “Done!” cried the old sailor. “But vere'll be the use o' vinnin'? you von't live to pay me.” “Never fear,” replied Ben, gravely; “dead or alive I'll pay you, if I lose. There's my thumb upon it. Come along, master.” “I tell 'ee what, landlord,” observed the old sailor, quietly replenishing his pipe from a huge pewter tobacco-box, as the waterman and Wood quitted the house, “you've said good-b'ye to your friend.” “Odd's me! do you think so?” cried the host of the Trumpeter. “I'll run and bring him back. He's a Welshman, and I wouldn't for a trifle that any accident befel him.” “Never mind,” said the old sailor, taking up a piece of blazing coal with the tongs, and applying it to his pipe; “let 'em try. They'll be back soon enough--or not at all.” Mr. Wood and the waterman, meanwhile, proceeded in the direction of St. Saviour's Stairs. Casting a hasty glance at the old and ruinous prison belonging to the liberty of the Bishop of Winchester (whose palace formerly adjoined the river), called the Clink, which gave its name to the street, along which he walked: and noticing, with some uneasiness, the melancholy manner in which the wind whistled through its barred casements, the carpenter followed his companion down an opening to the right, and presently arrived at the water-side. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. Into one of these the waterman jumped, and, having assisted Mr. Wood to a seat within it, immediately pushed from land. Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank. A shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. “Boat there!” cried a voice, which Mr. Wood fancied he recognised. “You'll find a waterman asleep under his tilt in one of them ere craft, if you look about, Sir,” replied Ben, backing water as he spoke. “Can't you take me with you?” urged the voice; “I'll make it well worth your while. I've a child here whom I wish to convey across the water without loss of time.” “A child!” thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. “Hold hard,” cried he, addressing the waterman; “I'll give the gentleman a lift.” “Unpossible, master,” rejoined Ben; “the tide's running down like a mill-sluice, and the wind's right in our teeth. Old saltwater was right. We shall have a reg'lar squall afore we gets across. D'ye hear how the wanes creaks on old Winchester House? We shall have a touch on it ourselves presently. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer--so here goes.” Upon which, he plunged his oars deeply into the stream, and the bark shot from the strand.