She sat where he had left her, with her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands, her mind in a tumult of horror, fear, and remorse, mingled with an intense hatred and disgust toward him, the man to whose destiny she had voluntarily linked her own for life.
But she could not contemplate without a shudder the cruel fate awaiting him. “Why should he be slain?” she asked herself. Phelim wanted her and the money; let him take both and carry them away, but spare the old man’s life—spare himself the staining of his hands with innocent blood. The crime would be great enough without that.
The raft was now moored to the shore. She lifted her head. How quiet everything was! not a sound to break the almost oppressive stillness save the slight ripple of the water at her feet, and the evening song of the frogs. There was not a house, road, fence, or any other sign of man’s occupancy within sight, but on the top of a slope not far away a solitary figure stood out in relief against the sky for a single instant, then vanished. They were there waiting for—what? To murder an innocent old man in his sleep, and possess themselves of his hard-earned savings.
Some one drew cautiously near and touched her on the shoulder.
“The byes is there,” whispered McManus, “an’ ye mustn’t be afther betrayin’ us. I was feart more’n oncet yer white face an’ shakin’ hands ud give ’im warnin’. Ye know we ain’t a goin’ to harrum ye—no, niver a bit av it. He thrates ye loike a brute baste, he does, the raskil; but Phalim ull be good till ye, an’ mak’ ye a rich lady wan o’ these days. I’m a goin’ to lie down and slape a bit, an’ ye’d betther thry the same, fer they’ll not be comin’ till toward mornin’, whan folks slapes the soundest. Ye’ll moind ye don’t do nothin’ to rouse the ould man’s suspicions!”
“I hate him! You may trust me,” she answered, in low, husky tones, without lifting her head or looking round.
He went away, and again she was left to the companionship of her own thoughts. Conscience was loud in its upbraidings. What was she doing? What would be the end of all this? Even should she escape the strong hand of the law, would not the spectre of the old man with his gray locks all dabbled in blood haunt her all her life?
And he had been good to her once—before she alienated his affections by her slatternly, careless ways and indifference to his comfort.
She could not look upon his death; she must make an effort to save him, but without betraying his would-be assassins. She rose and crept around to the place where he sat. She crouched at his side.
“Don’t let us stay here to-night,” she said, in a hoarse whisper; “let us go ashore and get lodging in some house. You have money, and those burglars may have got a hint of it; they always do find out somehow, and they may come on us in the night and—”