the rudder-lines tightened in his hold, and he steered hard towards the Surrey shore.
Always watching his face, the girl instantly answered to the action in her sculling; presently the boat swung round, quivered as from a sudden jerk, and the upper half of the man was stretched out over the stern.
The girl pulled the hood of a cloak she wore, over her head and over her face, and, looking backward so that the front folds of this hood were turned down the river, kept the boat in that direction going before the tide. Until now, the boat had barely held her own, and had hovered about one spot; but now, the banks changed swiftly, and the deepening shadows and the kindling lights of London Bridge were passed, and the tiers of shipping lay on either hand.
It was not until now that the upper half of the man came back into the boat. His arms were wet and dirty, and he washed them over the side. In his right hand he held something, and he washed that in the river too. It was money. He chinked it once, and he blew upon it once, and he spat upon it once,—"for luck," he hoarsely said—before he put it in his pocket.
"Lizzie!"
The girl turned her face towards him with a start, and rowed in silence. Her face was very pale. He was a hook-nosed man, and with that and his bright eyes and his ruffled head, bore a certain likeness to a roused bird of prey.
"Take that thing off your face."
She put it back.
"Here! and give me hold of the sculls. I'll take the rest of the spell."
"No, no, father! No! I can't indeed. Father!—I cannot sit so near it!"
He was moving towards her to change places, but her terrified expostulation stopped him and he resumed his seat.
"What hurt can it do you?"
"None, none. But I cannot bear it."
"It's my belief you hate the sight of the very river."
"I—I do not like it, father."
"As if it wasn't your living! As if it wasn't meat and drink to you!"
