"_Prepare to meet thy God_."
A deathlike stillness fell on the whole party, who had hitherto spoken
in loud whispers. Terror seized the hearts of some, and bitter shame
stung the consciences of others.
"We must get out of this as fast as we can," said Jones. "If we're
taken roving about the house this fashion, we shall all be clapped in
prison for housebreakers. Least said about this, mates, soonest mended.
We'd best hold our tongues. Old Tommy's clean outwitted us; he has for
sure. Maybe it serves us right."
All made their way back as hastily as possible through the window, and
separated to their several homes, only too glad to have escaped
detection.
And what was become of Thomas Johnson? Nobody could tell. When the
morning arrived, old Jenny went to the house, but the door was locked.
A piece of furze, an old rag, and some black-looking stuff were found
near the water-butt at the back, but what they could have to do with
Johnson's disappearance no one could say. He was, however, manifestly
gone, and Betty too, for neither of them made their appearance that day.
The meeting was held, but no Thomas Johnson made his appearance at it,
and his friends were lost in conjecture. But days and weeks passed
away, and nothing turned up to gratify or satisfy public curiosity in
the matter. Jones never spoke of it to his wife or any one else, and
the rest of the party were equally wise in keeping their own counsel as
to the intended assault and its failure. The landlord of Johnson's
house claimed the scanty furniture for the rent, and no one turned up to
dispute the claim. So all traces of Thomas Johnson were utterly lost to
Langhurst.