“Your father, my child, ask him to come to me quickly.”
Margaret hurried to the church, and an usher called the doctor to the door.
He read the question trembling on the girl’s lips.
“Nothing has happened yet, my daughter. Your brother has held a regiment of his men in readiness every moment of the day.”
“Mr. Stoneman is at the hotel and asks to see you immediately,” she whispered.
“God grant he may prevent bloodshed,” said the father. “Go inside and stay with your mother.”
When Doctor Cameron entered the parlour Stoneman hobbled painfully to meet him, his face ashen, and his breath rattling in his throat as if his soul were being strangled.
“You are my enemy, Doctor,” he said, taking his hand, “but you are a pious man. I have been called an infidel—I am only a wilful sinner—I have slain my own son, unless God Almighty, who can raise the dead, shall save him! You are the man at whom I aimed the blow that has fallen on my head. I wish to confess to you and set myself right before God. He may hear my cry, and have mercy on me.”
He gasped for breath, sank into his seat, looked around, and said:
“Will you close the door?”