“Take hold of my hand, Molly!... Please don’t keep me in such suspense.”
She drew her chair closer to the bed, her heart throbbing first with desire, then with anger, and laid her white fingers in his.
“Tell me,” insisted Mr. King. 302
“There was a boy––”
“You mean the little blind boy?”
“No, no,” denied Molly, paling. The very mention of such an affliction hurt her sadly. “No,” she said again, “I mean a friend of the boy who was shot; you remember him?”
“Oh, I remember Maudlin Bates; certainly I do; but I don’t think I heard of any other.”
Molly hadn’t either; she had shot at random and the shot told.
Theodore sat up in bed with whitening face.
“Molly,” he stammered, “Molly, has any one hurt her? Has––”