The day was breaking, and there was light enough for the men to see each other’s faces. They exchanged one brief glance; there was a fire in the eyes of both which could not be mistaken. “I mean,” said Fagin, showing that he felt all disguise was now useless, “not too violent for safety. Be crafty, Bill, and not too bold.” Sikes made no reply, but, pulling open the door of which the Jew had turned the lock, dashed into the silent streets. Without one pause or moment’s consideration, without once turning his head to the right or left or raising his eyes to the sky or lowering them to the ground but looking straight before him with savage resolution, his teeth so tightly compressed that the strained jaw seemed starting through his skin, the robber held on his headlong course, nor muttered a word, nor relaxed a muscle, until he reached his own door. He opened it softly with a key, strode lightly up the stairs, and entering his own room, double-locked the door, and lifting a heavy table against it, drew back the curtain of the bed. The girl was lying half-dressed upon it. He had roused her from her sleep, for she raised herself with a hurried and startled look. “Get up,” said the man. “It _is_ you, Bill!” said the girl, with an expression of pleasure at his return. “It is,” was the reply. “Get up.” There was a candle burning, but the man hastily drew it from the candlestick and hurled it under the grate. Seeing the faint light of early day without, the girl rose to undraw the curtain. “Let it be,” said Sikes, thrusting his hand before her. “There’s light enough for wot I’ve got to do.” “Bill,” said the girl, in the low voice of alarm, “why do you look like that at me?” The robber sat regarding her for a few seconds with dilated nostrils and heaving breast, and then grasping her by the head and throat dragged her into the middle of the room, and looking once towards the door, placed his heavy hand upon her mouth. “Bill, Bill—” gasped the girl, wrestling with the strength of mortal fear,—“I—I won’t scream or cry—not once—hear me—speak to me—tell me what I have done.” “You know, you she devil!” returned the robber, suppressing his breath. “You were watched to-night; every word you said was heard.” “Then spare my life for the love of Heaven as I spared yours,” rejoined the girl, clinging to him. “Bill, dear Bill, you cannot have the heart to kill me. Oh! think of all I have given up only this one night for you. You _shall_ have time to think, and save yourself this crime; I will not loose my hold, you cannot throw me off. Bill, Bill, for dear God’s sake, for your own, for mine, stop before you spill my blood. I have been true to you, upon my guilty soul I have.” The man struggled violently to release his arms, but those of the girl were clasped round his, and tear her as he would he could not tear them away.