“Is—is that all? Has thee told us all?”
“Yes, father.”
“Why didn’t thee speak of it before?”
“I couldn’t bear to do it. I was afraid to tell how I had treated him—an overseer in the meeting.”
Tom’s heart crumbled within him at the silence that followed his words.
“Father,” he said, “so help me God, my hands are clean of this thing. Does thee suppose I’d have come home if I’d done it?”
“Wait a minute, Thomas; I’m thinking,” said his father. He stood picking at his finger-tips, and looking earnestly at them. At last he raised his head. “I don’t believe that thee did do it, Thomas. I can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I!” burst out John. “My brother couldn’t do a thing like that. My mother’s son couldn’t kill a man. I don’t believe it, and I can’t believe it!”
The tears sprang into Tom’s eyes at these words. He looked at Will, but Will’s head was still turned away. “Here comes the constable,” said he, at last, in a low voice.
A horse and gig had come up from behind Stony-Brook Hill. When it reached the level road between them and the crest of the rise the nag broke into a trot.