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"He's here."
With the shrill cry of a hunted creature that has got back, wounded,
to its brethren, Sim seemed to leap upon them out of the darkness.
"Ralph, take me with you--take me with you; do not let me go back to
the fell to-night. I cannot go--no, believe me, I cannot--I dare not.
Take me, Ralph; have mercy on me; do not despise me for the coward
that I am; it's enough to make me curse the great God--no, no; not
that neither. But, Ralph, Ralph--"
The poor fellow would have fallen breathless and exhausted at Ralph's
feet, but he held him up and spoke firmly but kindly to him,--
"Bravely, Sim; bravely, man; there," he said, as the tailor regained
some composure.
"You sha'n't go back to-night. How wet you are, though! There's not a
dry rag to your body, man. You must first return with me to the fire
at the Red Lion, and then we'll go--"
"No, no, no!" cried Sim; "not there either--never there; better the
wind and rain, aye, better anything, than that."
And he turned his head over his shoulder as though peering into the
darkness behind.


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