The doctor shook his head. “I do not think so. I hope—in such cases one cannot be sure—but——”
“He will be dead,” said Carmel.
“It is in God’s hand,” said the doctor.
“They have killed him—because he was brave, because he loved me—because—— Oh, Doctor, that is the awful thought—he is dead for me. He gave his life for me.”
His hand rested upon her shoulder with the gentle touch which some men learn by a life of service—and Doctor Stewart, country physician, unrecognized, unsung, had lived such a life. “My dear,” he said, “how better could a man die?”
“He killed him—Abner Fownes killed him.”
“Abner Fownes has run his course,” said the doctor.
“It is not enough—not enough. The law can do nothing to him which will make him pay.”
“The punishment of the law,” said the doctor, “is a puny thing beside the punishment of God.”
Carmel stood up; she bent over the bed and kissed Evan upon the cold lips.... Something possessed her, controlled her, a power stronger than herself, an impulse more urgent than she had ever known. It moved her as if she were an automaton, a puppet ordered and regulated by strings in the hands of its fabricator. She moved toward the door.