"She will want me—when the other is out of the way," the apothecary answered sullenly.
"Out of the way?"
"Ay; in France, or—there!"—and the apothecary nodded towards the gibbet on Dymchurch Flat, which they were just approaching. "It is for her to choose," he added softly. "This side or that!"
"How?"
"If she takes me, Fayle may go hang, or cross the water, or as you please, so that he go far enough. But if she will have him——"
"Well?" Hunt said; for Eubank paused, squinting horribly.
"She will marry him there!" the apothecary answered, pointing to the gibbet.
"Ay?"
"I know that he is here," Eubank continued, his voice low, "and he cannot escape me. She has bubbled the soldiers; they do not know him. And for aught I know he goes out and in, and no one is the wiser. And the game may be played as long as you please. But from to-day I am there."
"You!" Hunt cried.