" O'Shea added this
with grim abstinence from fiercer comment.
"Does she know?" Caius' throat hardly gave voice to the words.
"No, she don't; and I don't know who is to tell her. I can't. I can do
most things." He looked up round the walls and ceiling, as if hunting in
his mind for other things he could not do. "I'll not do that. 'Tain't in
my line. My wife is adown on her knees, mixing up prayers and crying at
a great rate; and says I to her, 'You've been a-praying about this some
years back; I'd loike to know what good it's done. Get up and tell
madame the news;' and says she that she couldn't, and she says that in
the morning you're to tell her." O'Shea set his face in grim defiance of
any sentiment of pity for Caius that might have suggested itself.
Caius said nothing; but in a minute, grasping at the one straw of hope
which he saw, "What are you going to do?" he asked.
O'Shea smoothed out the letter he held.
"Well, you needn't speak so quick; it's just that there I thought we
might have our considerations upon. I'm not above asking advoice of a
gintleman of the world like yerself; I'm not above giving advoice,
neither."
He sat looking vacantly before him with a grim smile upon his face.
Caius saw that his mind was made up.
"What are you going to do?" he asked again.
At the same moment came the sharp consciousness upon him that he himself
was a murderer, that he wanted to have Le Maitre murdered, that his
question meant that he was eager to be made privy to the plot, willing
to abet it.
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