“I don't think, Saul, there is any probability of your escaping,” said young Stapleton; “and I advise you not to make the attempt.”
“Don't talk to I.—Ha'n't I, when you was a buoy, no bigger round than my thigh,—ha'n't I heard you read, when you zat a-top o' my knee, about the mouse gnawing the lion out o' the znare:—han't I?—Ah! you do recollect, do'ee?”
“I do, I do, too well, Saul,” replied Martin, as a tear trickled down his cheek; “and I am sorry—I am grieved—I feel more than you can imagine to see you here. But what has the fable to do with you?”
“Every thing—I shall get out—strength can't do it for me, but—”
“Saul Braintree, I now see what you are driving at,” said Martin; “but do not flatter yourself with so vain a hope. You are accused of a crime, of which, I hope—nay, I think—you will prove yourself guiltless: but though I am but young, I feel that I ought not, dare not, cannot interfere between you and the laws of your country. My father—”
“Now, doan't'ee preach; doan't'ee make a zimpleton o' your-zelf, I tell'ee:—but, can any body hear us?—be the constable nigh?” eagerly inquired Saul, dropping his voice to a low tone.
“No,” said Martin, “you may be sure of that; or I would not have remained, thus long, exposed to the madness or insolence of your remarks;—I know not which to call it.”
“Why, thou jackanapes!” said Saul, sneeringly, though his eye, at the same time, glared with an expression of the utmost fury on young Stapleton; “thou young jackanapes! dost thee tell I about insolence?—Thee shalt down on thy knees for this.”
“Braintree, good night,” said Martin, moving toward the door: “I did not expect this conduct.”
“What, thee'rt gwain to leave me, then? Zurely, thee bean't in earnest?” Martin had, by this time, reached the door, and was evidently determined on quitting the room. The prisoner, perceiving his intention, immediately assumed a tone of supplication. “Now, doan't thee go, Master Stapleton,” said he; “doan't thee!—do come back—do hear me, if it be but vor a minute. I were wrong, I were, indeed. Doan't thee leave me yet—doan't thee—doan't thee—doan't thee! Come back, Master Martin;—on my knees I do but of thee:—do come back—for Peggy's zake.”