are like
to see the last of him.--Ha, ha ha!"

These broken muttered exclamations, which terminated somewhat like the
joyous growl of a tiger over his meal, Julian could not comprehend; and
only replied to by repeating his request to be placed in the same cell
with Sir Geoffrey.

"Ay, master," said the jailer, "never fear; I'll keep word with you, as
you seem to know something of what belongs to your station and mine. And
hark ye, Jem Clink will fetch you the darbies."

"Derby!" interrupted Julian,--"Has the Earl or Countess----"

"Earl or Countess!--Ha, ha, ha!" again laughed, or rather growled, the
warden. "What is your head running on? You are a high fellow belike!
but all is one here. The darbies are the fetlocks--the fast-keepers,
my boy--the bail for good behaviour, my darling; and if you are not
the more conforming, I can add you a steel nightcap, and a curious
bosom-friend, to keep you warm of a winter night. But don't be
disheartened; you have behaved genteel; and you shall not be put upon.
And as for this here matter, ten to one it will turn out chance-medley,
or manslaughter, at the worst on it; and then it is but a singed thumb
instead of a twisted neck--always if there be no Papistry about it, for
then I warrant nothing.--Take the gentleman's worship away, Clink."

A turnkey, who was one of the party that had ushered Peveril into the
presence of this Cerberus, now conveyed him out in silence; and, under
his guidance, the prisoner was carried through a second labyrinth of
passages with cells opening on each side, to that which was destined for
his reception.

On the road through this sad region, the turnkey more than once
ejaculated, "Why, the gentleman must be stark-mad! Could have had the
best crown cell to himself for less than half the garnish, and must pay
double to pig in with Sir Geoffrey! Ha, ha!--Is Sir Geoffrey akin to
you, if any one may make free to ask?"

"I am his son," answered Peveril sternly, in hopes to impose some curb
on the fellow's impertinence; but the man only laughed louder than
before.

"His son!--Why, that's best of all--Why, you are a strapping youth--five
feet ten, if you be an inch--and Sir Geoffrey's son!--Ha, ha, ha!"

"Truce with your impertinence," said Julian. "My situation gives you no
title to insult me!"

"No more I do," said the turnkey, smothering his mirth at the
recollection, perhaps, that the prisoner's purse was not exhausted.
"I only laughed because y