The honest speech reconciled them at once, and with a hearty shake-hands and a kindly wished good journey, they separated.
“Did you remark that man who accompanied the sheriff?” said Layton to his son, as they stood at the door watching the wagon while it drove away.
“Not particularly,” said Alfred.
“Well, I did my best to catch sight of him, but I could not. It struck me that he was less an invalid than one who wanted to escape observation; he wore his hat slouched over his eyes, and covered his mouth with his hand when he spoke.”
The young man only smiled at what he deemed a mere caprice of suspicion, and the subject dropped between them. After a while, however, the father said,—
“What our host has just told me strengthens my impression. The supposed sick man ate a hearty supper, and drank two glasses of stiff brandy-and-water.'
“And if he did, can it concern us, father?” said Alfred, smiling.
“Yes, boy, if we were the cause of the sudden indisposition. He was tired, perhaps, when he arrived, but I saw no signs of more than fatigue in his movements, and I observed that, at the first glance towards us, he hurried into the inner room and never reappeared till he left. I 'm not by any means certain that the fellow had not his reasons for avoiding us.”
Rather treating this as the fancy of one whose mind had been long the prey of harassing distrusts than as founded on calmer reason, Alfred made no answer, and they separated for the night without recurring to the subject.
It was late on the following day they reached Gallina. The first question was, if Harvey Winthrop lived there? “Yes; he is our sheriff,” was the answer. They both started, and exchanged looks of strange meaning.