“That wise brain of yours should have jumped my meaning; it is that Angus Ray was as much a traitor as his son Ralph Ray, and that if the body of the latter is not delivered to judgment within fourteen days, the whole estate of Shoulthwaite will be forfeited to the Crown as the property of a felon and of the outlawed son of a felon.”
“It's a quibble—a base, dishonorable quibble,” said Willy; “my father cared nothing for your politics, your kings, or your commonwealths.”
The constables shifted once more in their seats.
“He feels it when it comes nigh abreast of himself,” said one of them, and the others laughed.
Rotha was in an agony of suspense. This, then, was what the woman had meant by her forebodings of further disaster to the semiconscious sufferer in the adjoining room. The men rose to go. Wrapping his cloak about him, the constable who had been spokesman said,—
“You see it will be wisest to do as we say. Find him for us, and he may have the benefit of pardon and indemnity for his life and estate.”
“It's a trick, a mean trick,” cried Willy, tramping the floor; “your pardon is a mockery, and your indemnity a lie.”
“Take care, young man; keep your strong words for better service, and do you profit by what we say.”
“That for what you say,” cried Willy, losing all self-control and snapping his fingers before their faces. “Do your worst; and be sure of this, that nothing would prevail with me to disclose my brother's whereabouts even if I knew it, which I do not.”
The constables laughed. “We know all about it, you see. Ha! ha! You want a touch of your brother's temper, young master. He could hardly fizz over like this. We should have less trouble with him if he could. But he's a vast deal cooler than that—worse luck!”