“I can’t think what you can mean!” feebly gasped Jane.
“She can,” replied Lena tersely. Jane made a little inarticulate moan. Lena went on rapidly.
“You go tell her. That’s what I come for. Nothin’ else—nor nobody else—can do it. That’s your part of this infernal business. Mine’s done. I’ve give you the warnin’. Now you go ahead.”
“Oh, are you sure?” repeated Jane weakly; “isn’t it possible you’ve got it wrong, somehow?”
“Is it possible the dust in the street don’t hear the oaths of Windover!” exclaimed Lena scornfully. “Do you s’pose there ain’t a black deed doin’ or threatenin’ in Angel Alley that I don’t know? I tell you his life ain’t worth a red herrin’, no, nor a bucketful of bait, if them fellars has their way in this town!... It’s the loss of the license done it. It’s the last wave piled on. It’s madded ’em to anything. It’s madded ’em to murder.... Lord,” muttered Lena, “if it come to that, wouldn’t I be even with ’em!”
She grated her teeth, like an animal grinding a bone; took her foot from the painter, sprang into the fishing-dory, and rowed with quick, powerful strokes into the dark harbor.
Helen, without a moment’s hesitation, descended the cliff and peremptorily said:—
“Jane, I heard it. Tell me all. Tell me everything, this minute.”
Jane who was sobbing bitterly, stopped like a child at a firm word: and with more composure than she had yet shown, she gave her version of Lena’s startling story.