"Hibbert—my son!" Zuker's voice softened wonderfully as the words passed his lips; then it hardened again, as he demanded: "How was it my son came to betray me?"
"It was after that accident on the river. Perhaps you have forgotten? It was I who helped him back to the school. And the dear little chap was always so grateful for it—always made such an awful fuss about it. That was his way—ever so much too sensitive and grateful. Poor little chap!"
Paul brushed the back of his hand quickly across his eyes; and somehow the man did the same.
"Well, I was often with him after that," he presently continued. "He felt that he would never get well, I think, and I could see that he suffered a good deal from something he had on his mind. I never guessed what it was; but one night, when I was sitting beside him, he told me that he could not sleep because of it, and he felt that if he didn't speak, God would never forgive him. That's how it was he came to tell me that you, Israel Zuker, were his father."
"I see—I see! Now I understand!"
Zuker strode across and across the chamber, as though uncertain how to act. At length he disappeared into one of the recesses of the cave, evidently used as a storehouse, and almost as instantly appeared again with a coil of rope in his hands.
"For all you did for my son, I spare your life; but I must keep you here for a few hours. My safety depends on it."
Paul knew that it was useless to protest. He knew well enough that Zuker had the power of shooting him as a dog, and he was not the man to stand any nonsense. So he allowed himself to be bound; and when he had bound him, Zuker brought out some cushions from the recess, and placed Paul on them.
"There! I am making you as comfortable as circumstances will permit," he said. "Gute nacht—good-night. Remember Israel Zuker again in your prayers. Ach! it was good of you to be kind to my boy when others so mocked and hated him. Adieu!"
With these words, he passed swiftly out by the way he had come. Paul rested for a few minutes, thinking quietly over the strange interview through which he had just passed. It was kind of Zuker to spare his life, but he did not much appreciate the prospect of lying there, bound hand and foot, for several hours—nay, it might so happen that Zuker would never return.