"Where have you buried him?" he repeated. "I want to see his
grave."
I conceived I had best take the bull by the horns. "Mr. Henry,"
said I, "I have news to give that will rejoice you exceedingly. In
all human likelihood, your hands are clear of blood. I reason from
certain indices; and by these it should appear your brother was not
dead, but was carried in a swound on board the lugger. But now he
may be perfectly recovered."
What there was in his countenance I could not read. "James?" he
asked.
"Your brother James," I answered. "I would not raise a hope that
may be found deceptive, but in my heart I think it very probable he
is alive."
"Ah!" says Mr. Henry; and suddenly rising from his seat with more
alacrity than he had yet discovered, set one finger on my breast,
and cried at me in a kind of screaming whisper, "Mackellar" - these
were his words - "nothing can kill that man. He is not mortal. He
is bound upon my back to all eternity - to all eternity!" says he,
and, sitting down again, fell upon a stubborn silence.
A day or two after, with the same secret smile, and first looking
about as if to be sure we were alone, "Mackellar," said he, "when
you have any intelligence, be sure and let me know. We must keep
an eye upon him, or he will take us when we least expect."
"He will not show face here again," said I.
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