The Chemist’s steady eye controlled him somewhat, or inspired him with enough submission to be raised upon his feet, and looked at.
“Who washed them, and put those bandages where they were bruised and cracked?” asked the Chemist, pointing to their altered state.
“The woman did.”
“And is it she who has made you cleaner in the face, too?”
“Yes, the woman.”
Redlaw asked these questions to attract his eyes towards himself, and with the same intent now held him by the chin, and threw his wild hair back, though he loathed to touch him. The boy watched his eyes keenly, as if he thought it needful to his own defence, not knowing what he might do next; and Redlaw could see well that no change came over him.
“Where are they?” he inquired.
“The woman’s out.”
“I know she is. Where is the old man with the white hair, and his son?”
“The woman’s husband, d’ye mean?” inquired the boy.