“Boy, did you ever hear your father speak of William Hewitt?” suddenly questioned the giant.
“Never to my knowledge,” answered the young man.
“Strange, when we knew each other so well,” soliloquized the hermit, in a semi-audible tone. “But, perhaps, he would have his heirs remain ignorant of that dark night, as well he might. But, my boy, I’d give my right arm, nay, my very life, to know what became of him—my boy.”
“I will make every inquiry when I return,” said Fairfax.
“But how shall I know the result of your inquiries?”
“I will return and make them known to you.”
“How can I reward you?” cried Hewitt, grasping the young man’s hands.
“Say nothing about that. I am already rewarded. But—what was that?”
“My door-bell,” said the giant, with a smile, as he rose to his feet and hastened to the mouth of the cave.
A minute later Fairfax heard the massive oaken door open and close, and a confused murmur of voices approaching him.