“Trust me.”
“An’ you’ll not say a word about it to nobody?”
“Not a syllable.”
“That’s all square. You’ll see the boat w’en ye git there, and as long as ye see that boat yer all right. Good day, sir.”
John Bumpus left Thorwald’s house chuckling, and wended his way to the widow’s cottage, whistling the “Groves of Blarney.”
Chapter Thirty One.
The Ambush—The Escape—Retributive Justice—And Conclusion.
An hour before the appointed time Ole Thorwald, under cover of a dark night, stole out of his own dwelling with slow and wary step, and crossed the little plot of ground that lay in front of it with the sly and mysterious air of a burglar, rather than that of an honest man.