The funny part of it is
that we ain't to hurt you. You ain't to be killed, you know. That's the
queer part of it, ain't it?"
"I'll admit it has an agreeable sound to me," said Rosalie, with a
shadow of a smile on her trembling lips. "It seems ghastly, though."
"Well, anyhow, it's part of somebody's scheme to get you out of this
country altogether. You are to be taken away on a ship, across the
ocean, I think. Paris or London, mebby, and you are never to come
back to the United States. Never, that's what I'm told."
[Illustration: "She shrank back from another blow which seemed
impending"]
Rosalie was speechless, stunned. Her eyes grew wide with the misery of
doubt and horror, her lips moved as if forming the words which would not
come. Before she could bring a sound from the contracted throat the
raucous voice of old Maude broke in:
"What are you tellin' her, Sam Welch? Can't you keep your face closed?"
she called, advancing upon him with a menacing look.
"Aw, it's nothin' to you," he retorted, but an uncomfortable expression
suddenly crept into his face. A loud, angry discussion ensued, the whole
gang engaging. Three to one was the way it stood against the leader, who
was forced to admit, secretly if not publicly, that he had no right to
talk freely of the matter to the girl. In vain she pleaded and promised.
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