“For us?”
“For them, I fear.”
The old woman shuddered.
“Why that?” he said quietly. “Ought we to sympathise so much with burglars who stand at nothing?”
“But it is so horrible,” she whispered.
“It would be as horrible for us,” he said sharply; “and we are of more consequence than they.”
“But surely they will not—”
“Kill them? Possibly. Something must be done to silence them. It is their own doing, the scoundrels! We cannot go to the wall.”
The old woman closed her eyes and sighed.
“God help us!” she said softly. “Harry, I am getting very weary of my life now; it is so near the end.”