“Isn’t this an outrage, this high-handed business of Major King’s?” She ran up all flushed and out of breath, as if she had been wrestling with her indignation and it had almost obtained the upper hand.
“What fresh tyranny is he guilty of?” Frances inquired, putting last night’s hot words and hotter feelings behind her.
“Ordering a soldier to guard the door of Mr. 286 Macdonald’s room, with iron-clad instructions to keep you away from him! He sent his orders back by Doctor Shirley—isn’t it a petty piece of business?”
“Mrs. Mathews told me. At least you could have allowed her to stay.”
“I?” Nola’s eyes seemed to grow. She gazed and stared, injury, disbelief, pain, in her mobile expression. “Why, Frances, I didn’t have a thing to do with it, not a thing! Mother and I protested against this military invasion of our house, but protests were useless. The country is under martial law, Doctor Shirley says.”
“How did Major King know that Mr. Macdonald had been brought here? He rode away without giving any instructions for his disposal or care. I believe he wanted him to die there where he fell.”
“I don’t know how he came to hear it, unless the lieutenant here sent a report to him. But I ask you to believe me, Frances”—Nola put her hand on Frances’ arm in her old wheedling, stroking way—“when I tell you I hadn’t anything to do with it. In spite of what I said last night, I hadn’t. I was wild and foolish last night, dear; I’m sorry for all of that.”
“Never mind,” Frances said.
“Don’t you worry, we’ll take care of him, mother and I. Major King’s orders are that you’re not to leave this house, but I tell you, Frances, if I wanted to go home I’d go!”