“You may depend upon it, Dick,” observed my precious uncle, “that George Gripp is well-informed.”
My father drooped his head—I sprang from my chair and folded him in my arms.
“‘Tis false! my father—believe me, the charge is false.”
“I wish it were,” replied Josiah, in a tone that showed his incredulity.
“Gracious Heaven!” murmured the poor quarter-master; “and is the son I loved so dearly, branded as accomplice to a murderer? Did my William consort with desperate men, and engage in lawless enterprise? I won’t—I can’t believe it.”
“You may depend upon it,” returned the lawyer’s clerk; “I have it from the best authority.”
Mv father turned wildly to my uncle—“Josh! speak, man! have heart, for once, and say if what that scoundrel says may be credited. You shake your head; well, if the misfortune has occurred, what will be its worst consequences? Can you tell? even—”
“Tell?” returned the lawyer; “ay, and with as much certainty, as if the foreman of the jury had delivered a verdict ‘for self and fellows.’”
“Out with the worst, man,” gasped my father.
“They’ll be hanged, that’s safe,” responded the lawyer, with a decision that forbad all argument.