“Then, bend down and I’ll tell you.” His face lighted up with amusement; the ape-like features were transformed; the wrinkles of care and pain wreathed into smiles.
“Can’t you guess?” he asked, with a hoarse chuckle, and his shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. “Bend lower.” He grasped her arm, and drew his lips close to her ear. “Dick’s alive.”
She gave a great gasp, and broke away, uncertain whether this were not some devilish jest.
“Oh, it’s true—it’s true!” he cried, nodding.
“Alive!—alive! Not dead! Dick!”
“But keep it secret.”
“But why? Why?” cried Dora.
“For reasons of my own. Oh, it’s true. You needn’t look at me like that. I’m not in my dotage yet.”
“Dick alive!—alive!” she cried. She clasped her hands, and swung around and around in excitement too great to be controlled.
“Yes, alive, but in hiding,” said the old man, “until I can get him out of that ugly scrape—cheaply.” 260