the
worse.

"But let us set our best foot foremost, Jack," says I, "for I do think
we have done more mischief to-night than any we have before, and I shall
not be greatly surprised if we are called to account for the death of
old Simon or some of his hirelings."

"I know not how that may be," says he, "but I must answer for knocking
of somebody's teeth out."

CHAPTER XXXIII.

_We take Moll to Greenwich; but no great happiness for her there._

In the midst of our heroics I was greatly scared by perceiving a cloaked
figure coming hurriedly towards us in the dim light.

"'Tis another, come to succour his friends," whispers I. "Let us step
into this hedge."

"Too late," returns he. "Put on a bold face, 'tis only one."

With a swaggering gait and looking straight before us, we had passed the
figure, when a voice calls "Father!" and there turning, we find that
'tis poor Moll in her husband's cloak.

"Where is thy husband, child?" asks Dawson, as he recovers from his
astonishment, taking Moll by the hand.

"I have no husband, father," answers she, piteously.

"Why, sure he hath not turned you out of doors?"

"No, he'd not do that," says she, "were I ten times more wicked than I
am."

"What folly then is this?" asks her father.

"'Tis no folly. I have left him of my own free will, and shall never go
back to him. For he's no more my husband than that house is mine"
(pointing to the Court), "Both were got by the same means, and both are
lost."

Then briefly she told how they had been turned from the gate by Peter,
and how Mr. Godwin was now as poor and homeless as we. And this news
throwing us into a silence with new bewilderment, she asks us simply
whither we are going.

"My poor Moll!" is all the answer Dawson can make, and that in a broken,
trembling voice.

"'Tis no good to cry," says she, dashing aside her tears that had sprung
at this word of loving sympathy, and forcing herself to a more cheerful
tone. "Why, let us think that we are just awake from a long sleep to
find ourselves no worse off than when we fell a-dreaming. Nay, not so
ill," adds she, "for you have a home near London. Take me there, dear."

"With all my heart, chuck," answers her father, eagerly. "There, at
least, I can give you a shelter till your husband can offer better."

She would not dispute this point (though I perceived clearly her mind
was resolved fully never to claim her right to Mr. Godwin's roof), but
only beg