Then she moaned, but whether from pain of body or mind I could not guess.
“Never you fear. I'll take care of myself,” I said cheerily.
She looked at me mournfully. “I am killed for ye, dearie.”
I started, shocked at this news.
“There,” she continued slowly, “I didn't mean to let you know. But they thought I had told ye.”
“Then I have two reasons instead of one for holding to my task,” I said solemnly. “I have two friends to avenge.”
“You'll make the third yourself,” groaned Mother Borton, “unless they put a knife into Barkhouse, first, and then you'll be the fourth belike.”
“Barkhouse—do you know where he is?”
“He's in the Den—on Davis Street, you know. I was near forgetting to tell ye. Send your men to get him to-night, for he's hurt and like to die. They may have to fight. No,—don't leave me now.”
“I wasn't going to leave you.”