"Well inquired," said Boswell. "If my advice had been taken, you would have been buried under these stones."
"I am indebted to you for your kindness," I remarked.
"You may come to think so," answered Boswell. "My patron wants a fuller vengeance than your death would be."
"Vengeance!" I exclaimed.
"He has much to say (in his cups, I grant) of how you stole the affection of a brother, and bred quarrel between him and his father, and alienated friends from him. If the half be true, it is no wonder he should hate you."
I sat speechless with astonishment awhile, for I was too young to know what lies men can tell, deluding even themselves into a sort of belief in their truth.
"What I say," continued Boswell, as if to himself, "is that revenge is costly, and death pays all."
"But, how would my removal to a distant country satisfy Sheffield, if he burns for vengeance?" I asked.
"I did not say that it would. The offer is mine," he answered.
"Oh, you would play false with your patron, pretending you had carried me off to the hopeless slavery of which you speak, but setting me at liberty, when we were far enough away? Is that your scheme? And what do you stand to gain thereby?"