“Who are you that dares to insult me?” said the man, trying to rise.
“I am her brother. Poor innocent Bessie; you would better have murdered her than to have flattered and deceived her the way you did.”
“He said he loved me,” said Bessie.
“Mr. Graves, are you not afraid you will injure the man?” Miss Elsworth asked.
“Injure him!” Ross repeated sneeringly. “Could I injure him enough to repay him for the ruin he has wrought in our home? No, his miserable soul is not worth a place in the world, and death is not half enough punishment for him.”
“Please, Mr. Graves, do not get so excited.”
Ross Graves looked down at the lovely face beside him, and the look of bitter hatred on his own melted 284 to one of extreme sadness, and as the physician entered he turned and left the room. A careful examination was made, but the ball which had entered the man’s side, could not be found, and the physician gave as his opinion that recovery was doubtful.
Mrs. Morris had summoned sufficient courage to enter the house, and stepping cautiously toward the bed, she looked steadily into the face of the wounded man, and then a pitiful cry escaped her lips.
“Oh, my boy! my boy!” she shrieked. “I have found you at last! Oh dear, oh dear, and you have come here to be shot by that crazy lunatic!”
“Come, old lady, don’t take on so; it’s bad enough to be shot without having such goings on as this about it.”