When the youth entered, Brother Bethuel was quietly reading his Bible; the table on which it lay was across the cellar-door.
"Welcome," said the little missionary, rising. "I am happy to see you, Mr. Royce."
The place looked so peaceful, with the Bible, the ticking clock, and the cat, that Royce began to think it must be all a mistake. He sat down for a moment to rest, irresolute, and not quite knowing what to say next. The three, close under the thin flooring down below, did not stir, hardly breathed. Stephen was thinking that, if Royce could know the truth, he too would let Eliot go. But there was not much time for thought.
Brother Bethuel brought out some apples, and began to converse easily with his visitor. After a while he said, deprecatingly:
"Will you not remove your pistols to the window-seat behind you, Mr. Royce? From my youth, I could never abide the proximity of fire-arms of any kind. They distress me."
Royce good-naturedly took them out of his belt, and placed them behind him, but within easy reach. The missionary was on the opposite side of the room.
Not a sound below. Wainwright was breathing with his mouth wide open, so as not to pant. He was still much spent.
But it could not last long; Royce felt that he must search the house, even at the risk of offending the little missionary.
"Mr. Head," he said, awkwardly enough, "I am very sorry, but—but a communication has been received stating that one of the outlaws, and the one, too, who shot poor Allison, is concealed here, in this house. I am very sorry, but—but I must search every part of it immediately."
Brother Bethuel had risen; his countenance expressed sorrow and surprise.