“What did Nancy advise?” the Squire repeated savagely.
“She advised me to stop all this”—he waved his hands outward, and the Squire nodded intelligently—“to tell them it wasn't true; and I was sorry; and to go away—”
He stopped, and Braile demanded, “Well, and are you going to do it?”
“I want to do it, and—I can't.”
“You can't? What's to hinder you?”
“I'm afraid to do it.”
“Afraid?”
“They would kill me, if I did.”
“They? Who? The Herd of the Lost?”
“The Little Flock.”