The man uttered the name involuntarily. He had been acting as Bordine, and somehow, he seemed growing into that personage more and more.
"Well, well," grunted the peddler, holding out his hand, "You an' I ought to be acquainted. My wife is your own aunt, did you know it?"
Andrew Barkswell regarded the speaker in astonishment. He thought he detected an ironical ring in the man's voice, but when he glanced into the fellow's face he seemed honest enough, in fact the red eye failed to show the least feeling on the subject—the one under the black patch was, of course, as unspeakable as the tomb.
"I was not aware of the relationship," said the plotting villain, as he clasped the hand of the queer-looking peddler.
"Lor', that's funny."
"You don't live in town?"
"I reckon not. So you don't remember me, August?"
"I can't say that I do."
"You've certainly heard your ma speak of Hiram Shanks, the man that married her youngest sister, Lucretia?"
Again the young man shook his head.