“Not yet—not yet,” said Jacob Gray, slowly and cautiously emerging from his hiding-place, “not yet. This place is now the safest I can remain in for sometime, because it has been visited.”
“You are wrong.”
“I cannot be.”
“I say you are wrong. I have a husband, and when he returns, he may not be so weak as his wife.”
Gray started, and replied in accents of fear,—
“When—when do you expect him?”
“Even now—he may be here directly.”
“I must go.—I must go,” said Gray. “You are telling me the truth? I will give you gold if you hide me here for another hour.”
“My compliance with your commands,” said the woman, “arose from a higher motive than the love of gold. Heaven knows we are poor—wretchedly poor, but gold from your polluted hands would bring with it a curse, instead of a blessing.”
“You reject a large sum for an hour’s safety for me?”