etained at Gravesend waiting for a wind; there were no
steam-tugs then to draw them into blue water. Even going down the
Channel, letters boarded them if the wind slacked. He walked his room
to and fro, like a caged tiger, day and night.

Wednesday evening Barrington came with the news that his son was at the
"Star" in Cornhill. "I have got him to bed," said he, "and, Lord
forgive me, I have let him think he will see you before we go down to
Gravesend to-morrow."

"Then let me see him," said the miserable father. "He shall know
nought from me."

They applied to the jailer, and urged that he could be a prisoner all
the time, surrounded by constables in disguise. No; the jailer would
not risk his place and an indictment. Bradbury was sent for, and made
light of the responsibility. "I brought him here," said he, "and I
will take him to the 'Star,' I and my fellows. Indeed, he will give us
no trouble this time. Why, that would blow the gaff, and make the
young gentleman fly to the whole thing."

"It can only be done by authority," was the jailer's reply.

"Then by authority it shall be done," said Sir Robert "Mr. Bradbury,
have three men here with a coach at one o'clock, and a regiment, if you
like, to watch the 'Star.'"

Punctually at one came Barrington with an authority. It was a request
from the Queen. The jailer took it respectfully. It was an authority
not worth a button; but he knew he could not lose his place, with this
writing to brandish at need.

The father and son dined with the General at the "Star." Bradbury and
one of his fellows waited as private servants; other officers, in plain
clothes, watched back and front.

At three o'clock father and son parted, the son with many tears, the
father with dry eyes, but a voice that trembled as he blessed him.

Young Cowen, now Morris, went down to Gravesend with his chief; the
criminal back to Newgate, respectfully bowed from the door of the
"Star" by landlord and waiters.

At first he was comparatively calm, but as the night advanced became
restless, and by and by began to pace his cell again like a caged lion.

At twenty minutes past eleven a turnkey brought him a line; a horseman
had galloped in with it from Gravesend.

"A fair wind--we weigh anchor at the full tide. It is a merchant
vessel, and the Captain under my orders to keep off shore and take no
messages. Farewell. Turn to the God you have forgotten. He alone can
pardon you."