“I have taken it up as well as I can. To be frank with you, Mrs. Borton, I know nothing about his job. I'm going along on blind chance, and trying to keep a whole skin.” The old woman looked at me in amazement. “Poor boy!” she exclaimed half-pityingly, half-admiringly. “You put your hands to a job you know nothing about, when Henry Wilton couldn't carry it with all his wits about him.” “I didn't do it,” said I sullenly. “It has done itself. Everybody insists that I'm Wilton. If I'm to have my throat slit for him I might as well try to do his work. I wish to Heaven I knew what it was, though.” Mother Borton leaned her head on her hand, and gazed on me thoughtfully for a full minute. “Young man,” said she impressively, “take my advice. There's a train for the East in the mornin'. Just git on board, and never you stop short of Chicago.” “I'm not running away,” said I bitterly. “I've got a score to settle with the man who killed Henry Wilton. When that score is settled, I'll go to Chicago or anywhere else. Until that's done, I stay where I can settle it.” Mother Borton caught up the candle and moved it back and forth before my face. In her eyes there was a gleam of savage pleasure. “By God, he's in earnest!” she said to herself, with a strange laugh. “Tell me again of the man you saw in the alley.” I described Doddridge Knapp. “And you are going to get even with _him_?” she said with a chuckle that had no mirth in it. “Yes,” said I shortly. “Why, if you should touch him the people of the city would tear you to pieces.” “I shall not touch him. I'm no assassin!” I exclaimed indignantly. “The law shall take him, and I'll see him hanged as high as Haman.” Mother Borton gave a low gurgling laugh. “The law! oh, my liver,--the law! How young you are, my boy! Oh, ho, oh ho!” And again she absorbed her mirthless laugh, and gave me an evil grin. Then she became grave again, and laid a claw on my sleeve. “Take my advice now, and git on the train.” “Not I!” I returned stoutly. “I'm doing it for your own good,” she said, with as near an approach to a coaxing tone as she could command. It was long since she had used her voice for such a purpose and it grated. “For my sake I'd like to see you go on and wipe out the whole raft of 'em. But I know what'll happen to ye, honey. I've took a fancy to ye. I don't know why. But there's a look on your face that carries me back for forty years, and--don't try it, dearie.” There were actually tears in the creature's eyes, and her hard, wicked face softened, and became almost tender and womanly. “I can't give up,” I said. “The work is put on me. But can't you help me? I believe you want to. I trust you. Tell me what to do--where I stand. I'm all in the dark, but I must do my work.” It was the best appeal I could have made.