“Well, do you know what I’m going to do?”
“No, master.”
“You know Bob Bertram?”
“The old farmer’s son, sir? Yes, sir; and a fine good-hearted young fellow he is as ever was born.”
“I’m glad to hear you say so, Tim; and glad also, to think you like him so much, for he, also, is coming with us.”
“Him, master?” said Tim, in surprise. “Why, how can that be? He’s in the round-house, and accused of murdering his old father. But he didn’t do it, I’ll swear,” said Tim to himself. “He couldn’t do it. Bob Bertram’s heart is too good for any such bloody work as that, or else I’m no judge of human nature.”
“Right, Tim; you are right, my lad,” said Ned, who had overheard his servant mumbling to himself. “And I feel proud to think your opinion about that murder is the same as mine; but, then, you know, he’ll never suffer; he’s going to escape to-night.”
“Escape, master! Why, I have heard that he’s guarded night and day. It were even whispered that some officers of the crown were coming down to take him down to London.”
“I have heard all that, also,” said Ned, laughing; “but when they do come, the bird will have flown. Do you see these, Tim?” said Ned, displaying a pair of pistols, “Do you see these?”
“Yes, master.”