"Come here," said he harshly. And he held the candle to my face and
stared hard at me. It was a sinister, sneering face that looked into
mine, and as I returned the stare my looks must have betrayed the hatred
that was in my mind.
"Which of Gallagher's boys are you?" he demanded.
"Barry, plaze your honour."
"How old are you?"
"I think twelve, sir--the same as Tim." For Tim and I were twins.
He looked hard at me again, and then said, "What was it your mother sent
word?"
"She said would your honour plaze to come quick, for she felt like
dying, and wished to spake to you before."
"Was that all?"
"Indeed, sir, she talked queerly the night about a dead lassie, and
called on your honour to save my father, if you plaze, sir."
He went to a cupboard and poured himself out a glass of raw whisky and
drank it. Then he beckoned to me to follow him down to the boat.