_Stu._ And you bore it with philosophy?

_Daw._ Till the scene changed, and then I melted. I ordered the
officers to take away their prisoner. The women shrieked, and would
have followed him; but We forbad them. 'Twas then they fell upon
their knees, the wife fainting, the sister raving, and both, with
all the eloquence of misery, endeavouring to soften us. I never felt
compassion till that moment; and had the officers been moved like
Me, we had left the business undone, and fled with curses on
ourselves. But their hearts were steeled by custom: the tears of
beauty, and the pangs of affection, were beneath their pity. They
tore him from their arms, and lodged him in prison, with only Jarvis
to comfort him.

_Stu._ There let him lie, till we have farther business with him.
And for You, Sir, let me hear no more of your compassion. A fellow
nursed in villainy, and employed from childhood in the business of
hell, should have no dealings with compassion.

_Daw._ Say you so, Sir? You should have named the devil that tempted
me.

_Stu._ 'Tis false. I found you a villain; therefore employed
you--But no more of this--We have embarked too far in mischief to
recede. Lewson is dead; and we are all principals in his murder.
Think of that. There's time enough for pity, when ourselves are out
of danger. Beverley still lives, though in a jail. His ruin will sit
heavy on him; and discoveries may be made to undo us all. Something
must be done, and speedily. You saw him quarrelling with Lewson in
the street last night?