“I don’t see why. I’m sure he’s everything that’s good and brave; and you need not sob like that, my dear, for, from what I can hear, he isn’t very badly hurt.”
Claire started. A dread that had been hanging over her was beginning to assume form.
“But they say it’s a mercy that the Major’s bullet did not go an inch lower.”
“Bullet? The Major! They have had a meeting?”
“Yes, my dear. I thought you must know, and I came to talk to you about even speaking to—there—there, what a woman I am. I came to do good, and I’m doing nothing but harm. Now, she’s going to faint.”
“No, no!” cried Claire agitatedly; “it is nothing. I am not going to faint, Mrs Barclay, indeed. There, you see, I am quite calm now.”
“Yes, and I am sorry, my dear; but I am such a thoughtless woman. Barclay’s quite right; I haven’t no head at all.”
“No head?” said Claire, smiling, as she sat down close to her visitor and laid her hands upon her arm. “Perhaps it is because you have so much heart.”
“Heart, my dear! why—no; I declare I’m most afraid to speak, for fear of saying something that may hurt your feelings.”
“If you will not speak about—about—”