“I'll not be the one to tell it, sir,” I said, and trembled at my temerity.
The parson looked at me queerly.
“Then you are in the right of it,” he said. “It is as I thought; I'll not expect Nicholas to tell me.”
“I will tell you, sir,” said Nicholas. “He was in the house with my father when—when he ran away. And I said that if he ever spoke of it to any one, I would kill him.”
For a while the clergyman was silent, gazing with a strange tenderness at the lad, whose face was averted.
“And you, David?” he said presently.
“I—I never mean to tell, sir. But I was not to be frightened.”
“Quite right, my lad,” said the clergyman, so kindly that it sent a strange thrill through me. Nicholas looked up quickly.
“You won't tell?” he said.
“No,” I said.