" "I don't understand you," replied Kneebone, in some confusion. I’m six hundred and forty-eight years old, John! I should have never seduced a young boy, let alone expected him to keep my secrets for me. Wet as he was, he felt if he lay down in the grass, he should perish with cold; while, if he sought a night's lodging in any asylum, his dress, stained with blood and covered with dirt, would infallibly cause him to be secured and delivered into the hands of justice. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel. "I have proofs to the contrary," replied Kneebone.
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