“You are of opinion, then, that Mary Monson knows who set fire to the house.”
“Sartain, she does. I know, too, but I won’t tell. They might want to hang me, as well as Mary Monson, if I told. I know too much to do anything so foolish. Mary has said they would hang me, if I tell. I don’t want to be hanged, a bit.”
A shudder from Sarah betrayed the effect of these words on the listeners; and Mrs. McBrain actually rose with the intention of sending for her daughter, who was then in the gaol, consoling the much-injured prisoner, as Anna Updyke firmly believed her to be, by her gentle but firm friendship. A word from the doctor, however, induced her to resume her seat, and to await the result with a greater degree of patience.
“Mary Monson would seem to be a very prudent counsellor,” rejoined Dunscomb.
“Yes; but she isn’t the great counsellor from York—you be that gentleman, they tell me.”
“May I ask who told you anything about me?”
“Nancy Horton—and so did Mary Monson. Nancy said if I made so much noise, I should disturb the great counsellor from York, and he might get me hanged for it. I was only singing hymns, and they say it is good for folks in trouble to sing hymns. If you be the great counsellor from York, I wish you would tell me one thing. Who got the gold that was in the stocking?”
“Do you happen to know anything of that stocking, or of the gold?”
“Do I—” looking first over one shoulder, then over the other, but hesitating to proceed. “Will they hang me, if I tell?”
“I should think not; though I can only give you an opinion. Do not answer, unless it be agreeable to you.”