“None,” said the mother.
“Good night, ma’am. We have not got him yet, but he cannot escape. I hope your little one will get better.”
“Thank you,” she said, faintly.
The door closed again, and the heavy tread of the men going down stairs sounded in the ears of Jacob Gray like a reprieve from immediate execution.
His state of mind while the officer was speaking was of the most agonising description, as one step into the room of that personage, or one glance towards him of the young woman’s eye, must have discovered him, and it would have been but a poor satisfaction even to such a mind as Jacob Gray’s, to have taken the life of the infant, even if he had the nerve to do it, which he certainly had not, although a mother’s fears would not permit her to run the risk.
“Tell me now,” said Gray, when he could speak, for his fright had almost taken away his breath, “tell me who lives up stairs in this house?”
“I know not,” replied the woman, “I am but a stranger here.”
“And—and you are sure your husband would not protect me?”
“A murderer and the threatener of the life of his child can have little indeed to expect in the way of protection from my husband. Fly, wretched man, while yet you are free to do so.”
“They have left the house,” muttered Gray; “will you betray me by an alarm when I leave you?”