"Oh, don't!" he cried; "Uncle Billy, don't let him take me back there
to live with him! I couldn't stan' it! I couldn't! I'd die! I can't
go, Uncle Billy! I can't!"
"There, there, lad! ha' no fear; ye'll no' go back, I'll no' let ye."
The man had Ralph in his arms trying to quiet him.
"But," persisted the boy, "he'll come for me, he'll, make me go. If
they find out I'm his gran'son there at the court, they'll tell him to
take me, I know they will!"
"But ye're no' his gran'son, Ralph, ye've naught to do wi' 'im. Ye're
Robert Burnham's son."
"Oh, no, Uncle Billy, I ain't, I--" He stopped suddenly. The certain
result of disclosing his knowledge to his Uncle Billy flashed
warningly across his mind. If Bachelor Billy knew it, Mrs. Burnham
must know it; if Mrs. Burnham knew it, Goodlaw and the court must know
it, the verdict would be against him, Simon Craft would come to take
him back to the terrors of his wretched home, and he would have to
go. The law that would deny his claim as Robert Burnham's son would
stamp him as the grandson of Simon Craft, and place him again in his
cruel keeping.
Oh, no! he must not tell. If there were reasons for keeping silence
before, they were increased a hundred-fold by the shadow of this last
danger. He felt that he had rather die than go back to live with Simon
Craft.
Bachelor Billy was rocking the boy in his arms as he would have rocked
a baby.
"There, noo, there, noo, quiet yoursel'," he said, and his voice was
very soothing, "quiet yoursel'; ye've naught to dread; it'll a'
coom oot richt.
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