“Listen, you!” Henry said: “she is alive. Now run as you never ran before, to Dr. Childs at Bradmouth, to the police, and anybody else you can think of. Tell them what has happened, and bid them come here as fast as horses can bring them. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then go.”
Willie sprang forward like an arrow, and presently the sound of his footsteps beating on the road grew faint and faded away.
“Oh! Joan, Joan, my darling,” Henry whispered as he leant over her, pressing her cold hands. “Cannot you speak to me, Joan?”
At the sound of his voice the great empty eyes began to grow intelligent, and the pale lips to move, faintly at first, then more strongly.
“Is that you, Henry?” she said in a whisper: “I cannot see.”
“Yes. How did you come thus?”
“He was going to murder you. I—I passed myself off for you—at least, I tried to—but grew afraid, and was running away when he—shot me.”
“Oh! my God! my God!” groaned Henry: “to think that such a thing should have been allowed to be!”