“Believe what you like, and let me alone.”
“Tom, I implore you, hide nothing from us. Oh, think of the misery of the poor broken-hearted mother!” and she laid her hand upon his arm.
“Speak another word and I’ll strike you!” cried Tom, roughly shaking her off.
“Strike me if you will, but I must speak. Where did you see that child last?”
“You can get nothing out of me,” growled Tom.
“Then I must call those who can,” said Minnie firmly, turning round as if to quit the cottage. “This is a matter of life or death.” She looked pale, but very determined.
“Whom are you going to call?” said Tom, his manner betraying some fear.
“My mother—if necessary, the clergyman—or—the magistrate!”
Tom caught her by the arm as he exclaimed, “Stop, Minnie, oh, stop,—you shall hear all and judge! I don’t know where the boy is,—I would give my right hand that I did. It is true that I saw him last, and I have searched all the place again and again. You would not betray me—you would not, Minnie?—you might ruin me, but could not help Johnny. Sit down here, and listen to me quietly, and you shall know everything that has happened!”
Minnie sat down beside him, her heart beating fast. He gave her a short but true account of what had passed, omitting, however, some little particulars which we shall relate more at length.