“But he might murder us all,” said Miss Crawford.
The Doctor smiled. “If he lives, it will be weeks before he will have the strength to kill a fly,” he answered.
Miss Crawford sighed, and gave up the battle. She was not a hard-hearted woman, but the idea of having one of Morgan’s dreadful raiders in the house was trying on her nerves.
The afternoon brought Major Crawford. The story of Joyce’s capture of a raider had travelled far and wide, and the Major had already heard of it. “So you captured a prisoner, did you, Puss?” he exclaimed, kissing her, as she threw herself in his arms. “Is he a regular brigand, and bearded like a pard?”
“No, no, he is young, almost a boy,” she answered. “Margaret Goodsen is taking care of him now. Come and see him, but he is out of his head, and raves dreadfully.”
She led the way to the chamber where Calhoun [pg 263]was. No sooner did Major Crawford see him than he turned pale and staggered back, “Great God!” he exclaimed.
What fate was it that had led the man he had shot to the house to be cared for by his sister?
“What is it, Mark? What is it?” she cried, seeing his agitation.
Should he tell her? Yes, it would be best. “Joyce, you will not wonder at my surprise, when I tell you it was I who shot him.”
“You, brother, you!” she cried, and instinctively she shrank from him.