“Here’s M’liss! Says she wants to come up. Shall I let her in?”
The subject of inquiry, however, settled the question of admission by darting past the guard below in this moment of preoccupation, and bounded up the stairs like a young fawn. The guards laughed.
“Now, then, my infant phenomenon,” said the one called Bill, as M’liss stood panting before him, “wot ’s up? and nextly, wot’s in that bottle?”
M’liss whisked the bottle which she held in her hand smartly under her apron, and said curtly, “Where’s him that killed the parson?”
“Yonder,” replied the man, indicating the abstracted figure with his hand. “Wot do you want with him? None o’ your tricks here, now,” he added threateningly.
“I want to see him!”
“Well, look! make the most of your time, and his too, for the matter of that; but mind, now, no nonsense, M’liss, he won’t stand it!” repeated the guard with an emphasis in the caution.
M’liss crossed the room, until opposite the prisoner. “Are you the chap that killed the parson?” she said, addressing the motionless figure.
Something in the tone of her voice startled the prisoner from the reverie. He raised his head and glanced quickly, and with his old sinister expression, at the child.
“What’s that to you?” he asked, with the grim lines setting about his mouth again, and the old harshness of his voice.