“Weel, sir, we moast on us thinks that in our seacret hearts, only we moightn’t knaw wheer to stop if we let ourselves begin. But when we foind a mon wi’ t’ courage o’ these opinions, we have to put a stop to his little games pretty quick. It’s not that Ah bear ye any ill-will, Capt’n, quoite t’ contrary: ye have t’ sympathy of all t’ coontry-soide, as ye knaw. But we must draw t’ loine soomwheer, an’ Ah draw it at murder.”
“You won’t take my word?”
“Can’t, Capt’n.”
“Will you take my money?”
“Noa, sir.”
“What are you going to do then? Go down into the town and set the police after me?”
Barnabas looked for a few moments puzzled and distressed. He would have given this high-handed gentleman into custody without a moment’s hesitation if it had not been for his little daughter, now on her way to her unknown home all unconscious of the tragedy which darkened it. On the other hand, he shrank from giving her into the care of a man whose hands were reeking with the guilt of a most cowardly murder. After pondering the matter, an idea struck him, and he raised his head with a clear countenance.
“Ah’ll haud my toongue aboot this business, if so be ye’re ready to mak’ a bargain.”
“Name your price then.”
“My price is that ye’ll give us yer room in these parts instead of yer coompany. Ye’ve gotten a yacht, Capt’n, an’ a rich mon’s weays o’ gettin’ aboot an’ makhin’ yerself comfortable. So Ah’m not droiving a hard bargain. But ye mun be aht of t’ Abbey by to-morrow, an’ all ye gotten to do is to mak’ soom provision for your little darter.”