Trevlyn Hold: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

It may be that Squire Trevlyn feared the suspicion might be too true a one; for he turned suddenly on James Chattaway, his eye flashing with a severe light.

"Tell me where the boy is."

"I don't know," said Mr. Chattaway.

"He may be dead!"

"He may—for all I can say to the contrary."

Squire Trevlyn paused. "Rupert Trevlyn is my heir," he slowly said, "and I will have him found. James Chattaway, I insist on your producing Rupert."

"Nobody can insist upon the impossible."

"Then listen. You don't know much of me, but you knew my father; and you may remember that when he willed a thing, he did it: that same spirit is mine. Now I register a vow that if you do not produce Rupert Trevlyn, or tell me where I may find him, dead or alive, I will publicly charge you with the murder."

"I have as much reason to charge you with it, as you have to charge me," returned Mr. Chattaway, his anger rising. "You have heard them tell you of my encounter with Rupert on the evening following the examination before the magistrates. I declare on my sacred word of honour——"

"Your word of honour!" scornfully apostrophised Mrs. Ryle.