“That she is a fallen girl,” replied Dr. Hartley.
“Then, no nearer on your life and soul,” said Ralph, lifting his hand to bar the doctor’s further approach.
“What do you mean, Captain Houston?”
“That she still wears the betrothal ring I placed upon her finger. That I am, as yet, her affianced husband. And, by that name, I claim the right to protect her in this, her bitter extremity; to defend her bruised and broken heart from the wounds of unkind eyes! Had you had faith in her, charity for her, I should have accepted, with thanks, your help. As it is, you have none; do not let her awake to find a hostile countenance bending over her!”
“As you please, sir. But, remember, that if the assistance of a physician is absolutely required, my services, and my home also, await the needs of Marguerite De Lancie’s daughter,” said Dr. Hartley, turning to depart.
Frank also, at a sign from his brother, withdrew.
Ralph was alone with Margaret. He raised her light form, shuddering, amid all his deeper distress, to feel how light it was, and bore her down the wooded hill, to the great spreading oak, under which was the green mound of her mother’s last sleeping place.
He laid her down so that her head rested on this mound as on a pillow, and then went to a spring near by to bring water, with which, kneeling, he bathed her face.
Long and assiduous efforts were required before she recovered from that mortal swoon.
When at length, with a deep and shuddering sigh, and a tremor that ran through all her frame, she opened her eyes, she found Ralph Houston kneeling by her side, bending with solicitous interest over her.