“I want no more of this farrago, sir, about yourself or any one else. If you are, indeed, a criminal’s son, your asylum’s authorities did well to change your name. Once for all, will you come back to the house with me, and perhaps to leave it, as—as—your conduct and—and candor shall allow me to decide, or shall I have you dragged off my premises by force?”
Touchtone checked himself.
“Gerald, we will go with them to the house,” he said, in a firm tone, looking down at the younger boy with profound sorrow in his eyes at realizing all at once what an experience was this for Gerald to be obliged to endure. “You and I are not afraid of this man nor of any one, are we? It’ll all be set right soon. Try not to cry.”
He took Gerald’s cold hand tightly in his own.
“We will go with you,” said he, turning to Mr. Banger. “It’s only a question of time to make you learn the truth. All right, Gerald; you’ll be with me, you know, whatever happens.”
“You are a cool young adventurer!” exclaimed Banger. “You’ll make your mark in the world before you die, at this rate. Come, Mr. Jennison, I shall want your help”—(this last in an undertone.)
“Will you really need it?” inquired Jennison.
He again had been looking at the white gate. The horse was fidgeting. “The fact is, that—I—well, after all, I’d rather not help to make a stir in town, if you don’t wish it.”
“Eh? What’s that, sir?” asked Mr. Banger, turning on the threshold of the summer-house. “I not wish to make a stir? I do! Pray don’t hesitate. I need you, certainly! These lads’ confessions—”