And George turned away. Barnabas was too proud to protest his innocence to his enemy. If he would condescend to exonerate himself before no judge but One—so be it.
The conversation had been short. It had lasted a bare three minutes. It is odd how much of hope and fear and passion can be crowded into three minutes!
The blazing fire the governor had ordered flung flickering lights over the faces of the men gathered round Hopping Jack, whose slight, usually agile form lay still enough now.
It is an ill wind that blows no good; and, this bitter day, the fire was comfortable.
Some one had thrown water on Jack, which, trickling over his face, left livid streaks and channels through the soot.
Dr. Merrill's red head was bent over him. "He's very seriously hurt; his back's broken," he said, as he knelt in the middle of the circle. Jack opened his one eye, and said, "Am I dying?"
The governor muttered that it was deucedly awkward. How was he to know that the fellow would fall like that? And no one laughed any more; the joke had ceased to be funny.
"Come here, Thorpe," said the doctor. "You can help." And the preacher, who had also heard a death warrant, came and knelt by the man's side.
"Ay—I thought as much!" he said. "He's about done for." And the gentlemen went away rather silently.
"That big grey-haired chap with the very blue eyes is the one you want to see hang, isn't he?" said the governor, when they got outside. "I saw you watching him while he was helping the doctor."