That's what I stayed for.

Thought ye'd orter know." "What do you mean ?" asked Margaret Bean, staring.
"Ye know what the doctor says about _him_ ?" The old man jerked his head towards the door.
Margaret nodded.
"Well, they're goin' to have 'em both hung for murder the minute he draws his last breath." "Can't till they're tried," said Margaret, with a sniff of scorn at her husband's lack of legal knowledge.
"Well, they're goin' to clap 'em into jail the minute they git home, an' keep 'em there till they can hang 'em," persisted old man Bean.
"They ain't." "I tell ye they are!" Old man Bean had a cup of tea, plentifully sweetened with molasses, made from the ginger which he had purchased, and went to bed happy and peaceful, as one who has worked innocently and well his small powers to his own advantage; and soon after that Lot also heard the news which he had brought.
Margaret Bean said to herself that it was her duty; and her duty, and a great devouring thirst of curiosity, overcame her natural fear of injuring the sick man.
Lot Gordon was still in bed, but propped up on pillows, with a candle on the stand at his side, reading one of his leather-covered books.
Margaret Bean shrank back when she had delivered herself of her news, for the flash in Lot's eyes was like lightning; and she waited in trembling certainty as for thunder.
"I tell ye 'tis a lie!" cried Lot Gordon.

"Do ye hear, 'tis a lie! Go yourself and tell them so from me.

The wound has naught to do with this.

It was naught but a scratch, for I had not courage enough to strike deep, much as I wanted to be quit of the world and the fools in it.