In a bound he was across the intervening space and, as she stumbled again, caught her in his arms, crying hoarsely:
"For God's sake, what has happened?"
She clung to him, drooping, sobbing, and out of breath; and fiercely he held her closer, as though by the presence of his strength she might feel secure.
"Mac," she gasped, convulsively, "Mac—is dead!"
"How?" He asked it calmly; with a fearful, avenging calm; knowing that in the way Mac died would be revealed a tragedy.
She tried, but could not answer, and simply leaned against him sobbing great silent sobs which shook her body and tore his soul with anguish. The love he had felt for her was slight to the passion now demanding utterance; yet his lips set resolutely to suppress any word of endearment. He knew that she had come only to a friend, a big brother, someone to sustain her, and he knew too well how deadly the suggestion of anything more would be.
"Can't you tell me?" he asked gently.
"That fiendish man jumped out and caught my horse's bridle! Mac sprang at him, and he dropped the bridle, and I tried to ride him down, but he had a club and knocked my poor horse flat;—I jumped up, and Mac was fighting him terribly, but I knew he would kill Mac—and then—and then—I was so frightened I ran as fast as I could back here!"
"Thank God," he whispered, in a voice which must surely have told her how he, too, was suffering.
She gathered her strength and stood more firmly, while he let his arms quietly fall to his sides.