and that I was to come off by it from the sentence of transportation.
They heard of it, and immediately my husband desired to see
this Mrs. Flanders that knew him so well, and was to be an
evidence against him; and accordingly I had leave given to go
to him. I dressed myself up as well as the best clothes that I
suffered myself ever to appear in there would allow me, and
went to the press-yard, but had for some time a hood over my
face. He said little to me at first, but asked me if I knew him.
I told him, Yes, very well; but as I concealed my face, so I
counterfeited my voice, that he had not the least guess at who
I was. He asked me where I had seen him. I told him between
Dunstable and Brickhill; but turning to the keeper that stood
by, I asked if I might not be admitted to talk with him alone.
He said Yes, yes, as much as I pleased, and so very civilly
withdrew.
As soon as he was gone, I had shut the door, I threw off my
hood, and bursting out into tears, ‘My dear,’ says I, ‘do you not
know me?’ He turned pale, and stood speechless, like one
thunderstruck, and, not able to conquer the surprise, said no
more but this, ‘Let me sit down’; and sitting down by a table,
he laid his elbow upon the table, and leaning his head on his
hand, fixed his eyes on the ground as one stupid. I cried so
vehemently, on the other hand, that it was a good while ere I
could speak any more; but after I had given some vent to my
passion by tears, I repeated the same words, ‘My dear, do you
not know me?’ At which he answered, Yes, and said no more
a good while.
After some time continuing in the surprise, as above, he cast
up his eyes towards me and said, ‘How could you be so cruel?’
I did not readily understand what he meant; and I answered,
‘How can you call me cruel? What have I been cruel to you in?’
‘To come to me,’ says he, ‘in such a place as this, is it not to
insult me? I have not robbed you, at least not on the highway.’
I perceived by this that he knew nothing of the miserable
circumstances I was in, and thought that, having got some
intelligence of his being there, I had come to upbraid him
with his leaving me. But I had too much to say to him to be
affronted, and told him in few words, that I was far from
coming to insult him, but at best I came to condole mutually;
that he would be easily satisfied that I had no such view,
when I should tell him that my condition was worse than his,
and that many ways. He looked a little concerned at the
general expression of my condition being worse than his, but,
with a kind smile, looked a little wildly, and said, ‘How can
that be? When you see me fettered, and in Newgate, and two
of my companions executed already, can you can your condition
is worse than mine?’
‘Come, my dear,’ says I, ‘we have along piece of work to do,
if I should be to related, or you to hear, my unfortunate history;
but if you are disposed to hear it, you will soon conclude with
me that my condition is worse than yours.’ ‘How is that possible,’
says he again, ‘when I expect to be cast for my life the very
next sessions?’ ‘Yes, says I, ”tis very possible, when I shall
tell you that I have been cast for my life three sessions ago,
and am under sentence of death; is not my case worse than yours?’
Then indeed, he stood silent again, like one struck dumb, and
after a while he starts up. ‘Unhappy couple!’ says he. ‘How
can this be possible?’ I took him by the hand. ‘Come, my
dear,’ said I, ‘sit down, and let us compare our sorrows. I am