The man stood upright, back in the shadow: it was old Yare.
"Had ye any word wi' me, Mas'r ?" He saw the negro's face grow gray with fear.
"Come out, Yare," he said, quietly.

"Any word?
What word is arson, eh ?" The man did not move.

Holmes touched him with the stick.
"Come out," he said.
He came out, looking gaunt, as with famine.
"I'll not flurr myself," he said, crunching his ragged hat in his hands,--"I'll not." He drove the hat down upon his head, and looked up with a sullen fierceness.
"Yoh've got me, an' I'm glad of 't.

I'm tired, fearin'.

I was born for hangin', they say," with a laugh.