"Oh, father! he was hurt like yourself."
"Hurt!—he? I am speaking of Walton Hurst, girl."
The man spoke out plainly now, and a wild questioning look came into his eyes.
"Oh, father! he was found, like yourself, lying on the ground, senseless. We thought that he was dead."
"Lying on the ground! Who hurt him? Not I—not I!"
Ruth flung herself on her knees by the bed; a flush of coming tears rushed over her face.
"Oh, father! oh, thank God! father, dear father!"
"Did you think that?" whispered the sick man, overwhelmed by this swift outburst of feeling.
"I did not know—I could not tell. It was all so strange, so terrible! Oh, father, I have been so troubled!"
The sick man looked at her earnestly.