“And how comes it she's so afraid of the soldiers, if she's doting?”
“Arrah! they used to frighten her so much, coming in at night, and firing shots at the doore, and drinking and singing songs, that she never got over it; an that's the rayson. I 'll beg of your honor not to bring in the sergeant, and to disturb her only as little as you can, for it sets her raving about battles and murders, and it 's maybe ten days before we 'll get her mind at ease again.”
“Well, well, I'll not trouble her,” said he, quickly, “Sergeant, step back for a moment.”
With this he entered the room, followed by the woman whose uncertain step and quiet gesture seemed to suggest caution.
“She 's asleep, sir,” said she, approaching the bed. “It 's many a day since she had as fine a sleep as that. 'T is good luck you brought us this morning, Mister Barton.”
“Draw aside the curtain a little,” said Barton, in a low voice, as if fearing to awake the sleeper.
“'Tis rousing her up, you'll be, Mister Barton, she feels the light at wanst.”
“She breathes very long for so old a woman,” said he somewhat louder, “and has a good broad shoulder, too. T 'd like, if it was only for curiosity, just to see her face a little closer. I thought so! Come, captain; it 's no use—”
A scream from the woman drowned the remainder of the speech, while at the same instant one of the young men shut-to the outside door, and barred it. The sergeant was immediately pinioned with his hands behind his back, and Malone drew his horse-pistol from his bosom, and holding up his hand, called out,—
“Not a word,—not a word! If ye spake, it will be the last time ever you 'll do so!” said he to the sergeant