“No, ma'am, he's lying dangerously ill, if he be yet alive, at Bangor. He wanted to bring these papers over himself, but was only able to get so far when the fever came on him again.”
“Is he alone?”
“Quite alone, ma'am, no one knows even his name. He would not let me say who he was.”
Miss Daly turned towards Bicknell, and spoke for several minutes in a quick and eager voice. Meanwhile Freney, now convinced that he had not to deal with a spy or a thief-catcher, came near and addressed Linwood.
“I did n't mean to hurt ye till I was sure ye deserved it, but never play that game any more.”
Linwood appeared to receive both apology and precept with equal discontent.
“Another thing,” resumed Freney: “I 'm sure you are an agreeable young man in the housekeeper's room and the butler's parlor, very pleasant and conversable, with a great deal of anecdote and amusing stories; but, mind me, let nothing tempt ye to talk about what ye heard me say tonight. It's not that I care about myself,—it's worse than jail-breaking they can tell of me,—but I won't have another name mentioned. D 'ye mind me?”
As if to enforce the caution, he seized the listener between his finger and thumb; and whether there was something magnetic in the touch, or that it somehow conveyed a foretaste of what disobedience might cost, but Linwood winced till the tears came, and stammered out,—
“You may depend on it, sir, I 'll never mention it.”
“I believe you,” said the robber, with a grin, and fell back to his place.