He was afraid of Tim; afraid that some terrible thing would happen to him if he did not keep on the right side of him.
Like thousands of others, he had not the courage to do his duty, and leave the consequences to take care of themselves.

He was more afraid of the Bunker than of the frowns of an accusing conscience.
"I say, Tim!" he called.
"Well, what you want _now_ ?" replied Tim, stopping.
"Suppose I don't join ?" "Then you will be in Rippleton jail before to-morrow night; that's all." "What for ?" "No matter; if you come to the meeting to-night, all right; if you don't--Rippleton jail;" and Tim hastened away, heedless of Charles's calls.
Rippleton jail! What could he mean by that?
He felt guilty, and his heart beat so violently that he could hardly breathe.

The stolen purse, which still lay buried on Center Island, seemed to haunt him, and with that he immediately connected Tim's dreadful threat.

His confederate meant to charge him with stealing it.

It was all very plain, and his conscience told him how justly he would be accused.