But there was no time to go back upon my words, even if that had been possible. I just caught those eyes that shone so blue out of the squire's bronzed face fixed intently upon me in the dim light of the little hall, when Joyce ran quickly down the stairs.
"Father wants to see you, Squire Broderick," said she, eagerly. "He heard your voice and he wants to see you."
"Oh, then he is conscious again!" cried I, joyfully.
"Yes," said Joyce; "he is conscious."
She said it with a marked accent on the word.
"But—" asked the squire.
"He can't speak," added she.
I turned my face away from them.
"That means he is dying," said I. "The doctor said it might be before dawn."
All at once a cowardly, horrible longing to run away took possession of me.