“Be quiet, I say; hush yer crying, or be the sowl o' the man that 's dyin' I 'll dhrive a ball through ye.” The sight of a pistol barrel seemed at last to have its effect, and she contented herself with a low wailing kind of noise, as she tottered after us along the passage.
The cold air of the street and the rest combined had given me strength, and I was able to follow Darby as he led the way through many a passage and up more than one stair.
“Here it is,” said the child, in a whisper, as she stopped at the door of a room which lay half ajar.
We halted in silence, and listened to the breathings of a man whose short, sobbing respiration, broken by hiccup, denoted the near approach of death.
“Go on,” cried a deep, low voice, in a tone of eagerness; “ye 'll not have the cough now for some time.”
The sick man made no reply, but his hurried breathing seemed to show that he was making some unwonted effort.
At last he spoke, but in a voice so faint and husky, we could not hear the words. The other, however, appeared to listen, and by a stray monosyllable, dropped at intervals, to follow the tenor of his speech. At last the sound ceased, and all was still.
“Go in now,” said Darby, in a whisper, to the child; “I 'll follow you.”
The little girl gently pushed the door and entered, followed by M'Keown, who, however, only advanced one foot within the room, as if doubting what reception he should meet with.
By the uncertain light of a wood fire, which threw in fitful flashes its glare around, I perceived that a sick man lay on a mean-looking, miserable bed in one corner of a dark room; beside him, seated on a low stool, sat another, his head bent down to catch the low breathings which the dying man gave forth from time to time. The heavy snoring sound of others asleep directed my eyes to a distant part of the chamber, where I saw three fellows lying on the floor, partly covered by a blanket. I had barely time to see this much, when the figure beside the bed sprang forward, and in a low but menacing tone, addressed M'Keown.