"My poor baby!" Mary suddenly broke down and began to weep.
"Don't, don't! Please don't!" Charles put his arm around her; he drew her to him. He wiped her eyes with his own handkerchief; his toil-hardened fingers touched the velvety skin of her cheeks. She did not resent his action.
"He is just a baby!" she sobbed; "he is as gentle and timid at times as a little girl. I must see him to-night."
"To-night!" Charles exclaimed, in surprise.
"Yes," and she drew herself from his embrace as if unconscious of having yielded to it, though her tear-wet face was still raised to his, the tremulous, grief-twisted lips never before so maddeningly exquisite. "Yes, I must see him to-night. I'll go alone. I can whistle and they will know who it is. Kensy may be asleep—he no doubt is—but Martin will be awake, poor boy!"
"May I not go with you to—" he began, hesitatingly.
"No, I'd better go alone. You see, if I happened to be discovered I could make some excuse, but it would be different if we were seen together. Don't wait for me. Please go back to your room. You are tired. We are making you do both night and day work, but, oh, I am so grateful! Good night."
"Good night," he echoed, as she flitted away from him like a vanishing sprite produced by the moon and starlight.
At the steps he took off his shoes again. No experienced house-breaker could have turned the bolt of the great door more softly than he did, and yet an accident happened. The large brass key, which was loose in the worn keyhole, fell to the floor just as he was opening the door. In the empty hall it sounded to him as loud as a clap of thunder. He stood still, holding the door ajar for a moment, and then softly closed it. Cautiously he crept up the steps, and was half-way to the floor above when a harsh command from Frazier's door rang out, followed by the sharp click of the hammer of a revolver.
"Halt!" cried Frazier. "Stand where you are, and hold up your hands. If you value your life, don't move."