Courtland controlled himself with difficulty. The doctor had spoken truly. The hero of this miserable affair was HER cousin—HIS RIVAL! And to him—perhaps influenced by some pitying appeal of Miss Sally for the man she had deceived—Courtland owed his life! He instinctively drew a quick, sharp breath.
“Are you in pain?”
“Not at all. When can I get up?”
“Perhaps to-morrow.”
“And this arm?”
“Better not use it for a week or two.” He stopped, and, glancing paternally at the younger man, added gravely but kindly: “If you'll take my unprofessional advice, Colonel Courtland, you'll let this matter simmer down. It won't hurt you and your affairs here that folks have had a taste of your quality, and the nigger a lesson that his fellows won't forget.”
“I thank you,” returned Courtland coldly; “but I think I already understand my duty to the company I represent and the Government I have served.”
“Possibly, colonel,” said the doctor quietly; “but you'll let an older man remind you and the Government that you can't change the habits or relations of two distinct races in a few years. Your friend, Miss Sally Dows—although not quite in my way of thinking—has never attempted THAT.”
“I am fully aware that Miss Dows possesses diplomatic accomplishments and graces that I cannot lay claim to,” returned Courtland bitterly.
The doctor lifted his eyebrows slightly and changed the subject.