“Linny!” he cried hoarsely; and his face looked terrible. “If I knew who it was, I believe I should kill him?”
“Stephen,” she wailed, “pray—pray! We are not alone.”
“There is only Antony here,” he said, “and he is like a brother.” Then, making an effort over himself, he strained the little panting figure to his breast, and kissed her tenderly. “It is all past, my darling,” he said to her softly, and he smoothed her hair with his hand, as if she had been his child. “I’ll say no more, dear, for you have promised me.”
“Yes; and I will keep my word, Stephen.”
He kissed her again, and loosed her, to stand with brows knit with trouble.
“I do not like your coming here, Linny,” he cried at last.
“Why not, dear?” she said, laying her hands upon his shoulder. “It is an earnest of my promise. He came to me when I was in trouble.”
“Yes,” he said; “you are right,” and after looking at the patient he sat down and talked to us in a low tone.
“Is it not nearly time for you to go back, Linny?” Hallett said at last.
“Back!” she said; “I am going to sit up with Antony; the poor fellow must not be left. The doctor said so.”