Mrs. Knapp paused a moment and then continued slowly. “It was cruel of me. I knew that it was sending you to face death. But I was alarmed, angry at the imposition, and felt that you had brought it on yourself. Can you forgive me?”
“I have nothing to forgive,” I said.
“I would have spoken when I found you for what you are,” said Mrs. Knapp, “but I thought until the Livermore trip that you could serve me best as you were doing.”
“It was blind work,” I said.
“It was blind enough for you, not for me. I was deceived in one thing, however; I thought that you had no papers—nothing from Henry that could help or hurt. The first night you came to us I had Henry's room thoroughly searched.”
“Oh, I was indebted to you for that attention,” I exclaimed. “I gave our friends of the other house the credit.”
Mrs. Knapp smiled again.
“I thought it necessary. It was the chance that you did not sleep there that night that kept this paper out of my hands weeks ago.”
“I have always kept it with me,” I said.
“I did not need it till Sunday,” continued Mrs. Knapp. “I have been worried much at the situation of the boy, but I did not dare go near him. Henry and I decided that his hiding-place was not safe. We had talked of moving him a few days before you came. When I found that Henry had disappeared I was anxious to make the change, but I could not venture to attempt it until the others were out of town, for I knew I was watched. Then I was assured from Mother Borton that they did not know where the boy was hidden, and I let the matter rest. But a few days ago—on Saturday—she sent me word that she thought they had found the place. Then it came to me to send you to Livermore with the other boy—oh, I hope no harm came to the little fellow,” she exclaimed anxiously.