“Ben,” he murmured, “we must—”
He fainted away.
Ben got him on the ground, loosened his shirt, tended him as he had so often done before in similar attacks, and he came back to life once more. After a time Ben put him to bed like a little tired child. He held Ben’s hand, and looked into his kind face and smiled.
“Dear old fellow,” he said tenderly, “dear old fellow. We must send her home, Ben,” he said, as he turned his face to the wall.
Then he raised himself for a moment.
“She was mistaken about one thing,” he said. “She had seen some of those settled-up parts on her way out here, and they seemed attractive to her, and she reproached me for not having bought land there. But you know, Ben, I had not the money for that sort of thing; you know I could not have afforded to pay fancy prices for my ranch. But it was only that she did not understand.”
After that he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, and Ben crept back into the living-room, half beside himself with indignation and anxiety. He felt he ought to let Hilda know that Robert was with him, and yet it was quite impossible for him to leave his friend. He longed to see her, and speak his mind to her about her cruelty. His whole being was at feud with her. A torrent of words rushed to his lips, and broke off into impotent silence.
There was a knock at the door. When he opened it, he found Hilda outside.
“Robert is here?” she asked breathlessly.