Where he was to be carried or what was to be his fate, Ernest could not conjecture, nor did he speculate much. It was enough for him to know that he was in the power of one of the notorious outlaws.
There was considerable difference between his appearance and that of the man at his side. He was silent and depressed, while James Fox, for it was he, seemed in excellent spirits. He turned to the boy with the remark: “You don’t say much.”
“No, for it would be no good.”
“Brace up, boy! There is no occasion to look as if you were going to a funeral.”
“Give me back the bonds and I will look lively enough.”
“Come now, don’t be foolish. These bonds don’t belong to you.”
“They were given into my care.”
“Very well! You took as good care of them as you could.”
“I shall be held responsible for them.”
“No, you won’t. I shall send your employers a letter letting them know that you did the best you could to keep them out of my hands. But perhaps they never heard of me,” and he laughed.