quite as much
in her daughter's interest as in his mother's. She found his question
difficult. All she could answer was:--"I could try."

He shook his head doubtfully, walking beside her in silence. Then an
idea seemed to occur to him, and he said:--"Hold hard a minute!" causing
her to stop, as she took him literally. He also paused. "Strike a
bargain!" said he. "You do me a good turn, and I'll say yes. You give me
your word--your word afore God and the Bible--not to split upon me to
one other soul but the old woman herself, and I'll give you a free
ticket to say whatever you please to her when no one else is
eavesdropping. Afore God and the Bible!"

Granny Marrable's fear of him began to revive. He might be mad after
all, with that manner on him, although his tale about Mrs. Prichard
might be correct. But there could be no reason for withholding a promise
to keep silence about things said to her under a false impression that
she was his mother. Her doubt would rather have been as to whether she
had any right to repeat them under any circumstances. "I will promise
you, sir, as you wish it, to say nothing of this only to Mrs. Prichard
herself. I promise."

"Afore God and the Bible? The same as if there was a Bible handy?"

"Surely, indeed! I would not tell a falsehood."

"Atop of a Testament, like enough! But how when there's none, and no
Parson?" He looked at her with ugly suspicion on his face. And then an
idea seemed to strike him. "Look ye here, missus!" said he. "You say
Jesus Christ!"

"Say what?--Oh why?" For blind obedience seemed to her irreverent.

"No--you don't get out that way, by God! I hold you to that. You say
Jesus Christ!" He seemed to congratulate himself on his idea.

Old Phoebe could not refuse. "Before Jesus Christ," she said reverently,
at the same time bending slightly, as she would have done in Chorlton
Church.

The convict seemed gratified. He had got his security. "That warn't
bad!" said he. "The bob in partic'lar. Now I reckon you're made safe."

"Indeed, you may rely on me. But would you kindly do one thing--just
this one! Give me your name and address, and wait to hear from me before
you come to the Cottage. 'Tis only for a short time--a day or two at
most."

"Supposin' you don't write--how then?... Ah, well!--you look sharp about
it, and I'll be good for a day or two. Give you three days, if you want
'em."

"I want your mother's leave...."

"Leave for me to come? If she do