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