“Took all the skin off my hips and ribs,” growled Bart, rubbing himself softly.
“You’ll have plenty of time to get well before your trial,” said the constable, smiling. “Are you ready!”
This last to Abel, who was gazing fiercely at his sister, who met his angry eyes with an imploring look.
“And my own sister, too, Bart,” he said, bitterly. “We fought for her, lad, and she gave information to the police.”
“No, no, no, Abel!” cried Mary, running to him to fling her arms about his neck; but he gave her a rough thrust which sent her staggering back, and her countenance changed on the instant for her eyes flashed vindictively, and she stood before him with folded arms.
“Prisoner confessed in the presence of you all that he committed the act,” said the constable; and his words were received with a mutter of assent in chorus.
“Here, I’m ready,” said Abel. “Come along, mate.”
“So’m I,” growled Bart, laying a hand on Abel’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t ha’ thought it on you, Mary, my lass,” he said, and he gazed at her sadly as he shook his head.
Mary made no reply, but stood with her arms folded across her breast and her brow wrinkled while the party moved out of the cottage; but the next instant the scene which followed made her rush outside and gaze wildly with eyes dilated and breast heaving, and her hands now clasped as she watched the chase.
For as the little party stood outside, Bart still with his hand upon his companion’s shoulder, Abel said quickly—