"That you did the—the—murder! Oh, I know you didn't mean it, but they'll hang you, they'll hang you! And they'll make me witness against you! Oh, oh!" And he wrung his hands. "Why didn't I throw it away? Why didn't I bury it?"
"Bury it? What?" asked Leicester, puzzled.
The lad hobbled near him and laid a trembling hand upon his arm.
"Maester Leicester! I've got it. I found it on the cliff, among the bushes, and—oh! go away, sir, fly, for Heaven's sake!"
"Hush, my poor lad!" said Leicester, who was getting excited himself. "What did you find?"
The poor lad shuddered and put his lips to Leicester's ear.
"The knife! The knife you stabbed him with."
Leicester stared and the hot blood rushed up into his face.
There was a moment's pause, then, in a low, constrained voice, which trembled a little, he said:
"You found the knife, did you, Jamie? and you kept it?"