“Don’t ask questions, sirrah.”
“Very well, Master Mark,” said the boy, so meekly that his young master was touched, and said gently:
“Look here, Dummy, can I trust you?”
“I dunno, Master Mark. I’ll do what you tell me.”
“That’s right. Will you fight?”
The boy’s eyes flashed in the candle-light, down in the grim chamber were they stood.
“Torches—fight,” he whispered. “Are you going to tackle the Darleys?”
“No; the robbers.”
“T’other’s best; and they’re robbers too. But them’ll do. Want me to come and help fight them?”
“Yes; will you?”