“And the margage on Lakeside,” he supplemented, nodding his head knowingly.
“Has he? How did you find that out? He never told me a breath about it,” she returned in some surprise.
“Ah, thin,” he chuckled, “sure there’s a bit av a burrud that whispers things intil Phalim O’Rourke’s ears whan it’s av impoortance fer him to know about ’em.”
“Is that so?” she asked, with a slight laugh. “But how does that margage concern you?”
“Ah, that’s me sacret; but sure, the ould man’s affairs consarn me, seein’ that a good bet o’ his money’ll be comin’ till you whan he’s out o’ the way under the turuf.”
“I wish he was there now!” she cried, bursting into sudden passion. “I haven’t the first bit of comfort in my life for thinkin’ I’m tied to him, and he growlin’ and scoldin’ from mornin’ to night, and wantin’ me to go dressed like a beggar. I don’t never have a cent but what I get by sellin’ milk and eggs, and that won’t hardly keep me in shoes and stockin’s.”
“S’pose, thin, we put ’im out o’ the way,” he whispered, bending down to look into her eyes, a lurid light of hate, malice, and revenge gleaming in his own.
She shrank back shuddering, a sudden death-like pallor overspreading her cheek. “You can’t mean it!” she said, in a hoarse whisper; “you’re only jokin’!”
“Niver a bit av it!” he ejaculated, with an oath. “Didn’t he stale you from me? an’ whan I heard it, didn’t I swear to shoot him down in his tracks loike a dog? An’ whan he’s afloat on his raft—crazy ould fool that he is!—there’ll be the wather at hand quite convanient to tumble him intil, out o’ sight.”
“No! no! no!” she cried, recoiling still further, covering her face with her hands, and shuddering with horror. “I hate him! I hate him! but—that would be murder!” she added, with a gasp, “and we’d be hung for it—both of us.”