Mother Borton seized it, looked for a moment at the firm, delicate hand
of the address, and drew out the sheet that it inclosed.
"Read it, dearie," she said, handing it back after a scrutiny. "I can't
tell anything but big print."
I suspected that Mother Borton was trying to deceive me, but I repeated
the words of the note:
"Send six men to 8 o'clock boat. Come with one in hack to courtyard of
the Palace Hotel at 7:40."
Mother Borton's face changed not a whit at the reading, but at the end
she nodded. "She knows," she said.
"What does it mean?" I asked. "What is to happen?"
"Don't go, dearie--you won't go, will you?"
"Yes," I said. "I must go."
"Oh," she wailed; "you may be killed. You may never come back."
"Nonsense," said I. "In broad daylight, at the Palace Hotel? I'm much
more likely to be killed before I get home to-night."
Her earnestness impressed me, but my resolution was not shaken. Mother
Borton rested her head on the table in despair at my obstinacy.
"Well, if you will, you will," she said at last; "and an old woman's
warnings are nothing to you. But if you will put your head in the
traps, I'll do my best to make it safe after you git it there. You jist
sit still, honey." And she took the candle and went to a corner where
she seated herself at a stand.
Her shadow grew very large, and her straggling locks sent streamers of
blackness dancing on the grimy ceiling. The weird figure, thrown into
bold relief by the candle-lighted wall beyond it while all else was in
obscurity, gave an uncanny feeling that turned half to dread as I
looked upon her.
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