“No, not if I die for it. I found out how you loved Kate, and I soon knew that they meant her for that—that dreadful boy, while all the time he was trying to pay his addresses to me. Then I made up my mind to give him just a little encouragement—to draw him on, so as to be able to let Kate see how utterly contemptible and unworthy he was, for I could lead him on until she surprised us together some day, when all would have been over at once, for she would never have listened to him. Do you hear me, Pierce? I tried to fool him, but he has fooled me instead, and robbed me of my own brother’s love.”
“What do you mean by fooling you?” he cried, with his attention arrested at last.
“We have been all wrong, dear; I found it out to-night. He did not take Kate away.”
“What! Why, they were seen together by that poaching vagabond, Barker, the fellow the keeper shot at and I attended. He watched them.”
“No, dear; it was not Kate with him then: it was I. Kate is gone, and he is in a rage about it.”
“Gone? With whom?”
“With—with—oh! Pierce, Pierce! say some kind word to me; tell me you love and believe me, dear. I am hot the wicked creature you think, and—and—am I dying? Is this death?”
He laid her back quickly, and hurriedly began to bathe her temples, but ceased directly.
“Better so,” he muttered; and then with trembling hands, which rapidly grew firmer, he examined the injury, acting with such skill that when a low sigh announced that the poor girl was recovering her senses, he was just laying the injured limb in an easy position, before rising to take her hand in his.