“Oh, daddy! dear old daddy!” she cried, “what have we done?” Then excitedly, “Dan, we were selfish fools to speak. Dear, dear old guardy—we’ve killed you!”
Chapter Twenty One.
A Forced Confession.
“No, no!” panted Elthorne, in a low, husky voice. “Stop! Don’t ring! Better—soon.”
He held up one hand firmly now, and Dana turned uneasily toward the other side of the couch.
“Let her call for help, dear,” whispered Saxa. “No,” said the stricken man feebly, as he battled hard to recover his equanimity; and the sisters trembled, repentant, over their work. “Water, please.” Dana flew to the side table, and the hand trembled so that the carafe clattered against the glass she filled, and the water splashed over the side and on her rich dress as she bore it to the couch.
“Take it, Saxa,” she whispered, and the kneeling girl held the glass to the invalid’s lips.
“Hah!” he sighed, after drinking a little, and signing to his ward to take back the vessel. “I can speak now.”