“If it does, indeed!”
“Come, come, Jane, we have every reason to hope it will; now, let’s go to bed; it would not do, if any one should happen to have been near the spot, and to have found out what has taken place, for us to be discovered not to have been in bed all night, or even for a light to be seen at the cottage by any early riser. Come, Jane, let’s to bed.”
Rushbrook and his wife retired, the light was extinguished, and all was quiet, except conscience, which still tormented and kept Rushbrook turning to the right and left continually. Jane slept not: she listened to the wind; the slightest noise—the crowing of the cock—startled her, and soon footsteps were heard of those passing the windows. They could remain in bed no longer. Jane arose, dressed, and lighted the fire: Rushbrook remained sitting on the side of the bed in deep thought.
“I’ve been thinking, Jane,” said he, at last, “it would be better to make away with Mum.”
“With the dog? Why, it can’t speak, poor thing. No—no—don’t kill the poor dog.”
“He can’t speak, but the dog has sense; he may lead them to the spot.”
“And if he were to do so, what then? it would prove nothing.”
“No! only it would go harder against Joey.”
“Against the boy! yes, it might convince them that Joey did the deed; but still, the very killing of the animal would look suspicious: tie him up, Rushbrook; that will do as well.”
“Perhaps better,” replied he; “tie him up in the back-kitchen, there’s a good woman.”