Sim sank back into his seat.
A look of surprise in the sheriff's face quickly gave way to a look of content and satisfaction.
“We know each other of old, and I say there is no love between us,” he observed, “but it is by no doing of mine that you are here. Nevertheless, your response to this merciful tender shows but too plainly how well you merit your position.”
“It took you five days to bring it—this merciful tender, as you term it,” said Ralph.
“The King is now at Newcastle, and there at this moment is also Justice Hide, in whom, had you been an innocent man, you must have found an earnest sponsor. I bid you good day.”
The sheriff rose, and, bowing to the prisoner with a ridiculous affectation of mingled deference and superiority, he stepped to the door.
“Stop,” said Ralph: “you say we know each other of old. That is false! To this hour you have never known, nor do you know now, why I stand here condemned to die, and doomed by a harder fate to take the life of this innocent old man. You have never known me: no, nor yourself neither—never! But you shall know both before you leave this room. Sit down.”
“I have no time to waste in idle disputation,” said the sheriff testily; but he sat down, nevertheless, at his prisoner's bidding, as meekly as if the positions had been reversed.
“That scar across your brow.” said Ralph, “you have carried since the day I have now to speak of.”
“You know it well,” said the sheriff bitterly. “You have cause to know it.”