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Updated: June 29, 2025
Dusk settled about us, succeeded by night, as we pressed steadily forward, the men riding silently, the only sound the thud of hoofs, and the slight jingle of accoutrements. As we passed the black walls of Farrell's shop, I recalled the papers found in Grant's coat, and the reference in Fagin's note to a rendezvous at Lone Tree.
You'll learn that, if you wait long enough. Mortimer is either dead, or in Fagin's hands. Good-night." I passed out, and was beyond the guard, before he could recall me, even had he desired to do so. I had no wish to talk with him longer. I felt disappointed, sick at heart, and realized this staff-officer was strongly prejudiced against young Mortimer.
Who were those men surging in through the front door, pouring out through the library? Then a voice roared out: "Bedad, they're Fagin's hell-hounds, byes ter hell wid 'em!" Where had I heard the voice before? I sank down, too weak to stand, my head hanging over the edge of the stairs. Some hand drew me back, but I had no strength left. Only I could think and the truth came to me. Camden militia!
"What what is it you wish of me?" his uncertain gaze wandering over the three faces, but coming back to Fagin. "You are to marry this officer here to a young lady." "What what young lady?" "Mortimer's daughter Claire is the name, isn't it, Grant? Yes, Claire; you know her, I reckon." I could hear the unfortunate man breathe in the silence, but Fagin's eyes threatened.
"You know me, Colonel," and Farrell stepped inside. "I am 'Bull' Farrell; this is Major Lawrence." He looked at us with dull eyes, his hand falling weakly. "Farrell Farrell surely, the blacksmith. What Lawrence? The the officer Claire knows?" "Yes; he's a rough-looking object I admit, but there has been a fight down below, sir, in which he had a share. We've just cleaned out Red Fagin's gang.
Don't you know the devil when he's got a great-coat on? Apparently, the dog had been somewhat deceived by Mr. Fagin's outer garment; for as the Jew unbuttoned it, and threw it over the back of a chair, he retired to the corner from which he had risen: wagging his tail as he went, to show that he was as well satisfied as it was in his nature to be. 'Well! said Sikes.
But we were too late to head off the fugitives, or prevent their achieving their purpose. In through the rear door, confused as to what had occurred, yet shouting fiercely, poured Fagin's wolves, seeking trouble. They were a wild, rough-looking lot, ill-dressed, and dirty even in that dim light.
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