“Yes, who was it?” cried Janet, with her little lips compressed. “You are right, Rich. Some one did do this dreadful thing. Who was it, Mark?”
The sick man turned from her with a shudder, while she, all excitement now, pressed his hard hand.
“Tell us, Mark dear, that he may be punished, and made to restore what he has stolen.”
“No, no!” he said excitedly; “I cannot tell you—I do not know.”
“Try and recollect, Mark,” said Rich gently; and she looked in his face with an appealing smile.
“No, no!” he gasped, as he shuddered again; “it is impossible. I—I do not know. And Heaven forgive me for my lie!” he muttered, as he sharply withdrew his hands, sank back upon his pillow, and covered his face.
“He must be left now,” said the nurse firmly, “He is very weak, and your visit is proving painful. Say good-night to him. You can come to-morrow. He will be stronger after a night’s rest.”
“But—there is no danger?” whispered Rich, as she caught the sister’s hand.
“No; the danger is past, but he must be kept quiet. Say good-night.”
Janet bent down and kissed her brother lovingly; and as she drew back from his pallid drawn face, Rich took her place and held out her hand.