For the first time in his life David was so preoccupied that he paid no heed to the little cripple who had now withdrawn to the darkest corner of the room and crouched there in abject terror. The two men made a hasty meal and then sat by the table talking in tones so low that Patsy heard scarcely a word of what was said. Anyway, he cared nothing for their plans now; he had spoiled everything for them. But how was he to tell David, how was he to tell David?
By and by, a third man joined them and there was more whispering with heads close together. At last, the three arose and made preparations for going out. They moved towards the door and were astonished to find themselves confronted by a small, crippled figure, that stood swaying on his crutches, directly in their way. A bright red spot burned on either cheek, the eyes were brilliant with fever, and the child was panting for breath. But he said very quietly, his eyes fixed steadily on his brother's face:
"You mustn't go out to-night, David."
The men gasped and looked at one another in amazement.
"You mustn't go out to-night, David," the child repeated. "You mustn't none of you go to the house on the hill to-night."
"We mustn't go out, mustn't we," exclaimed one of the men roughly. "Who's to stop us going, I'd like to know? Stand aside, kid, before harm comes to you."
"Who's to stop you? I am. I have stopped you."
A laugh of derision greeted this statement.
"Yes," Patsy repeated; "I've stopped you. I peached on you; I warned 'em you was comin'."
David's face was terrible to see.