“No. I dustn’t,” says Jo, relapsing into the profile state. “I dustn’t, or I would.”
“But I must know,” returns the other, “all the same. Come, Jo.”
After two or three such adjurations, Jo lifts up his head again, looks round the court again, and says in a low voice, “Well, I’ll tell you something. I was took away. There!”
“Took away? In the night?”
“Ah!” Very apprehensive of being overheard, Jo looks about him and even glances up some ten feet at the top of the hoarding and through the cracks in it lest the object of his distrust should be looking over or hidden on the other side.
“Who took you away?”
“I dustn’t name him,” says Jo. “I dustn’t do it, sir.”
“But I want, in the young lady’s name, to know. You may trust me. No one else shall hear.”
“Ah, but I don’t know,” replies Jo, shaking his head fearfully, “as he DON’T hear.”
“Why, he is not in this place.”