ged we should hasten on our way, saying she felt chilled; and in
passing Mother Fitch's cottage she constrained us to silence and
caution; then when we were safely past she would have us run, still
feigning to be cold, but in truth (as I think) to avoid being overtaken
by Mr. Godwin, fearing, maybe, that he would overrule her will. This way
we sped till Moll was fain to stop with a little cry of pain, and
clapping her hand to her heart, being fairly spent and out of breath.
Then we took her betwixt us, lending her our arms for support, and
falling into a more regular pace made good progress. We trudged on till
we reached Croydon without any accident, save that at one point, Moll's
step faltering and she with a faint sob weighing heavily upon our arms,
we stopped, as thinking her strength overtaxed, and then glancing about
me I perceived we were upon that little bridge where we had overtaken
Mr. Godwin and he had offered to make Moll his wife. Then I knew 'twas
not fatigue that weighed her down, and gauging her feelings by my own
remorse, I pitied this poor wife even more than I blamed myself; for had
she revealed herself to him at that time, though he might have shrunk
from marriage, he must have loved her still, and so she had been spared
this shame and hopeless sorrow.

At Croydon we overtook a carrier on his way to London for the Saturday
market, who for a couple of shillings gave us a place in his waggon with
some good bundles of hay for a seat, and here was rest for our tired
bodies (though little for our tormented minds) till we reached Marsh
End, where we were set down; and so, the ground being hard with frost,
across the Marsh to Greenwich about daybreak. Having the key of his
workshop with him, Dawson took us into his lodgings without disturbing
the other inmates of the house (who might well have marvelled to see us
enter at this hour with a woman in a man's cloak, and no covering but a
handkerchief to her head), and Moll taking his bed, we disposed
ourselves on some shavings in his shop to get a little sleep.

Dawson was already risen when I awoke, and going into his little
parlour, I found him mighty busy setting the place in order, which was
in a sad bachelor's pickle, to be sure--all littered up with odds and
ends of turning, unwashed plates, broken victuals, etc., just as he had
left it.

"She's asleep," says he, in a whisper. "And I'd have this room like a
little palace against she comes into it, so do