His resolution was taken at St. Albans, and over a comfortable dinner
he pictured a serene and uneventful future. On the morrow he would set
forth to Dublin, sell his handsome stock of jewels, and forget that the
cart ever lumbered up Tyburn Hill. So elated was he with his growing
virtue, that he called for a second bottle, and as the port heated
his blood his fingers tingled for action. A third bottle proved beyond
dispute that only the craven were idle; 'and why,' he exclaimed,
generous with wine, 'should the most industrious ruffler of England
condescend to inaction?' Instantly he summoned the ostler, screaming
for his horse, and before Redburn he had emptied four pockets, and
had exchanged his own tired jade for a fresh and willing beast. Still
exultant in his contempt of cowardice, he faced the Warrington stage,
and made off with his plunder at a drunken gallop. Arrived at Dunstable,
he was so befogged with liquor and pride, that he entered the 'Bull
Inn,' the goal of the very coach he had just encountered. He had scarce
called for a quartern of brandy when the robbed passengers thronged into
the kitchen; and the fright gave him enough sobriety to leave his glass
untasted, and stagger to his horse. In a wild fury of arrogance and
terror, of conflicting vice and virtue, he pressed on to Hockcliffe,
where he took refuge from the rain, and presently, fuddled with more
brandy, he fell asleep over the kitchen fire.
By this time the hue and cry was raised; and as the hero lay helpless in
the corner three troopers burst into the inn, levelled their pistols at
his head, and threatened death if he put his hand to his pocket.
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