“You have a generous and noble nature to look upon it in that light.”
“No, I haven’t; but I’m a man, I reckon, and not a beast nor a devil, and that’s all about it.”
“Well, farmer, I confess that when I first spoke to you, I thought of offering you a heavy bribe to allow us to go free, and that was what I meant when I said I had something to propose to your advantage.”
“Then I’m glad you didn’t do it—that’s all.”
“I am glad too, for now I know your magnanimous heart would have led you to serve us without reward, and even at great loss.”
“Yes, that it would,” naively assented the farmer.
“And even so we accept and shall ever be grateful for your services,” added Lyon Berners, gravely. And all the while he was slily examining the contents of his pocketbook. At length he drew a five hundred dollar note from the compartment in which he knew he kept notes of that denomination, and he slipped it into a blank envelope, and held it ready in his hand.
In another moment they were at the stable door, before which Sybil stood, leaning on the bowed neck of her own horse, while Robert Munson held the other horse.
Before Lyon Berners could speak, Farmer Nye impetuously pushed past him, and rushed up to Sybil, pulled off his hat and put out his hand, exclaiming:
“Give me your hand, lady. I beg your pardon ten thousand times over for all I said and did to affront you, not knowing who you was. But now, lady, here is a man who don’t believe you to be innocent, because he knows that you are so, and who will fight for you as long as he has got a whole bone left in his body, and shed his blood for you as long as he has got a drop left in his veins.”