Denis wheeled and eyed her with an expression that she did not understand.
“Begorra!” he ejaculated, beneath his breath, and swept down upon her like an avalanche.
“I know ye, me darlint,” he said, and there was something in his tone that sent a shiver through Alice, “ye’ll walk a stip with me an’ tell me thrue all ye know of this, ivery wurd! Come on, mavourneen, ’tis fer me ear alone.”
“I can’t go with you,” Alice said, trying to pull away from him, but his grip was a vise; “my poor lady is out here in the night—I must find her.”
“A curse upon her!” said Denis fiercely, “a curse upon her smilin’, desateful face; may she dhry up an’ wither away loike a did leaf—an’ may—”
Alice cried out a little.
“Let me go!” she said, “you bloody Irishman, let me go. I thought you were a faithful servant to Lord Clancarty.”
“I’ll not let ye go,” retorted Denis savagely, dragging her along, “I’ll not let ye go until I make yer teeth rattle!”
Alice screamed aloud in an agony of fright; but of what avail was it? A woman’s scream in the black mouth of a London lane at midnight; it was only a drop upon the surface of a black pool.
“Scrame away, ye little threacherous, spiteful cat, ye!” said Denis, shaking her fiercely; “ye’d bethray me masther, would ye? Begorra, I’d loike ter kill ye intirely! Take that, ye hizzy!” and he gave her a sound blow that made the poor girl reel.