"Come here! Come to me here--to the window!" she cried.
John had been watching with a calm, determined look. He came and stood
between us.
"John," I said, "leave your mother to me."
"She will kill you!" he answered.
"You might kill her!" I replied.
I darted to the chimney, where a clear fire was burning, caught up the
poker, and thrust it between the bars.
"That's for you!" I whispered. "They will not touch you with that in your
hand! Never mind me. If your mother move hand or foot to help them, it
will be my turn!"
He gave me a smile and a nod, and his eyes lightened. I saw that he
trusted me, and I felt fearless as a bull-dog.
In the meantime, she had spoken to her servants, and was now trying to
open the window, which had a peculiar catch. I saw that John could defend
himself much better at the window than in the room. I went softly behind
his mother, put my hands round her neck, and clasping them in front,
pulled her backward with all my strength. We fell on the floor together,
I under of course, but clutching as if all my soul were in my fingers.
Neither should she meddle with John, nor should he lay hand on her! I did
not mind much what I did to her myself.
"To the window, John," I cried, "and break their heads!"
He snatched the poker from the fire, and the next moment I heard a
crashing of glass, but of course I could not see what was going on.
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