But who
cares for Grip?'
The raven croaked again--Nobody.
'And by the way,' said Barnaby, withdrawing his hand from the bird, and
laying it upon his mother's arm, as he looked eagerly in her face; 'if
they kill me--they may: I heard it said they would--what will become of
Grip when I am dead?'
The sound of the word, or the current of his own thoughts, suggested to
Grip his old phrase 'Never say die!' But he stopped short in the middle
of it, drew a dismal cork, and subsided into a faint croak, as if he
lacked the heart to get through the shortest sentence.
'Will they take HIS life as well as mine?' said Barnaby. 'I wish they
would. If you and I and he could die together, there would be none to
feel sorry, or to grieve for us. But do what they will, I don't fear
them, mother!'
'They will not harm you,' she said, her tears choking her utterance.
'They never will harm you, when they know all. I am sure they never
will.'
'Oh! Don't be too sure of that,' cried Barnaby, with a strange pleasure
in the belief that she was self-deceived, and in his own sagacity. 'They
have marked me from the first. I heard them say so to each other when
they brought me to this place last night; and I believe them.
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