“You hear that, sergeant? you heard him use a word to bring me into contempt before the people, and excite them to use acts of violence towards me?”
“No such thing. Mister Barton!” said Malone, coolly; “nobody here has any thought of molesting you. I told you that young gentleman's name and condition, to prevent you making any mistake concerning him; for his friends are not the people to trifle with.”
This artfully-put menace had its effect. Barton sat down again, and appeared to reflect for a few minuted; then taking a roll of paper from his pocket, he began leisurely to peruse it. The silence at this moment was something horribly oppressive.
“This is a search-warrant, Mr. Malone,” said Barton, laying down the paper on the table, “empowering me to seek for the body of a certain French officer, said to be concealed in these parts. Informations on oath state that he passed at least one night under your roof. As he has not accepted the amnesty granted to the other officers in the late famous attempt against the peace of this country, the law will deal with him as strict justice may demand; at the same time, it is right you should know that harboring or sheltering him, under these circumstances, involves the person or persons so doing in his guilt. Mr. Malone's well-known and tried loyalty,” continued Barton, with a half grin of most malicious meaning, “would certainly exculpate him from any suspicion of this nature; but sworn informations are stubborn things, and it is possible, that in ignorance of the danger such a proceeding would involve—”
“I thought the thrubbles was over, sir,” interrupted Malone, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, “and that an honest, industrious man, that minded his own business, had nothing to fear from any one.”
“And you thought right,” said Barton, slowly and deliberately, while he scanned the other's features with a searching look; “and that is the very fact I'm come to ascertain. And now, with your leave, we'll first search the house and offices, and then I 'll put a little interrogatory to such persons as I think fit, touching this affair.”
“You're welcome to go over the cabin whenever you like,” said Malone, rising, and evidently laboring to repress his passionate indignation at Barton's coolness.
Barton stood up at the same moment, and giving a wink at the sergeant to follow, walked towards the small door I've already mentioned. Malone's wife at this started forward, and catching Barton's arm, whispered a few words in his ear.
“She must be a very old woman by this time,” said Barton, fixing his sharp eyes on the speaker.
“Upwards of ninety, sir, and bedridden for twelve years,” said the woman, wiping a tear away with her apron.