Birch; if the old man gets a few hours the start of
you in the journey, you will be sure to follow him before noon
to-morrow."
This unfeeling communication had no effect on the peddler, who listened
with gasping breath to every sound from the room of his parent until he
heard his own name spoken in the hollow, sepulchral tones of death.
Birch could endure no more, but shrieking out,--
"Father! hush--father! I come--I come!" he darted by his keeper and was
the next moment pinned to the wall by the bayonet of another of the
band. Fortunately, his quick motion had caused him to escape a thrust
aimed at his life, and it was by his clothes only that he was confined.
"No, Mr. Birch," said the Skinner, "we know you too well to trust you
out of sight--your gold, your gold!"
"You have it," said the peddler, writhing with agony.
"Aye, we have the purse, but you have more purses. King George is a
prompt paymaster, and you have done him many a piece of good service.
Where is your hoard? Without it you will never see your father."
"Remove the stone underneath the woman," cried the peddler,
eagerly--"remove the stone."
"He raves! he raves!" said Katy, instinctively moving her position to a
different stone from the one on which she had been standing. In a moment
it was torn from its bed, and nothing but earth was seen beneath.
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