The Bishop seemed nettled and annoyed. Stingaree loved him.
"I don't come to take anything, much less life," he said. "I come to save it; if it is not too late."
"To save life—here?"
"In your house."
"But whom do you know of my household?"
"Mrs. Melvin. I have had the honor of meeting her twice, though each time she was unaware of the dishonor of meeting me. The last time I promised to try to save her unhappy son from himself. I found him waiting to waylay the coach, told him who I was, and had ten minutes to try to cure him in. He wouldn't listen to reason; insult ran like water off his back. I did my best to show him what a life it was he longed to lead, and how much more there was in it than a loaded revolver. He wouldn't take my word for it, however, so I put him out of harm's way, up in a tree; and when the coach came along I gave him as brutal an exhibition of the art of bushranging as I could without spilling blood. I promise you it was for no other reason. What did I want with watches? What were a few pounds to me? I dropped the lot that the lad might know."
The Bishop started to his gaitered legs.
"And he's actually innocent all the time?"
"Of the deed, as the babe unborn."
"Then why in the wide world——"