me start, I suppose; for he looked at me, and himself showed sudden
agitation.

"Good evening, Keeling," said I. "We have had a little conversation once
before."

"Oh! for God's sake, gentlemen! for God's sake! I am already within an
inch of my life."

"I know you are," said Mr. Chiffinch severely, "and you will be nearer
even than that, if you do not speak the whole truth."

"Sir; it is not that I mean," cried the man, in a very panic of terror.
"Rumbald hath been--"

"Eh? What is that?" said Mr. Chiffinch.

"Rumbald, sir, the old Colonel, of the Rye--"

"God, man! We know all about Rumbald," said the page contemptuously.
"What hath he been at now?"

"Sir; he and some of the others caught me but yesterday. They had heard
some tale of my having been to Mr. Secretary, and--"

"And you swore you had not, I suppose," snarled the other.

"Sir; what could I do? Rumbald was all for despatching me then and
there. They caught me at Wapping. I prayed them for God's love not to
believe such things: I entreated: I wept--"

"I'll be bound you did," said Mr. Chiffinch. "Well? And what then?"

"Sir! they let me go again."

"They did? The damned fools!" cried Chiffinch.

I was astonished at his vehemence. But, like his master, if there was
one thing that the page could not bear, it was a fool. I made him a
little sign.

"Keeling," said I, "you remember me well enough. Well; I need not say
that we know pretty near everything that there is to know. But we must
have it from you, too. Tell us both now, as near as you can recollect,
every name to which you can speak with certainty. Remember, we want no
lies. We had enough of them a while back in another plot." (I could not
resist that; though Mr. Chiffinch snapped his lips together.) "Well,
now, take your time. No, do not speak. Consider yourself carefully."

It was, indeed, a miserable sight to see this poor wretch so hemmed in.
The sweet evening light fell full upon his terrified eyes and his
working lips, as he sought to gather up the names. He was persuaded, I
am sure, that we were as gods, knowing all things--above all, he feared
myself, as I could see, having met me first at the very house of
Rumbald, as if I were his friend, and now again in the chamber of his
accuser. It was piteous to see how he sought to be very exact in his
memories, and not go by a hair's breadth beyond the truth.

At last I let him speak.

"Now then," I said, "tell us the names." (I saw