Dick produced and held up the knife.
Aaron’s face was ghastly, and a terrible fear was in his eyes. This boy with the searching eyes knew just what had happened, and it was useless to lie.
“I canna tell!” moaned the little man. “Do na look a’ me wi’ them eyes! I canna tell! I canna tell!”
“My poor lad!” exclaimed the widow. “Do na fear, but speak out th’ truth.”
“He wi’ kill me if I do!” whispered Aaron.
“No one shall harm you,” promised Dick.
“You canna tell that, for you do na ken him.”
“Whom do you mean, Aaron?” asked the widow.
“Rob MacLane,” he breathed, shuddering with fear.
“Rob MacLane?” cried the landlady, in consternation: “Do na tell me he had hand i’ this black work!”