“To the death.”
“We shall be four, with the women to load for us as we fire.”
“I am ready, man,” said Mr Braine, sadly; “and we shall have the satisfaction of acting as Englishmen in a time of peril, but we can do no more than keep them at bay for a time. Even if we did that, they could starve us out.”
The doctor let his hands drop helplessly to his side.
“Yes; that’s it,” he said. “It is madness. It would only mean so much bloodshed and nothing done.”
“He would send every man he had to his death to gain his ends.”
“If I had only known—if I had only known!” groaned the doctor; “he would never have recovered from that last illness, I swear.”
“Then you swear falsely,” said Mr Braine, holding out his hand. “My old friend, John Barnes, never did a treacherous act, and never could.”
“Hah!” ejaculated the doctor, wringing the Resident’s hand. “Now you disarm me: but a man would do desperate things to save his wife and child.”
“Even to giving his life, as I would mine.”