"I will go on; she expects me."
And in a few moments she had disappeared from sight.
Horton remained where she had left him for perhaps a quarter of an hour. Then he proceeded on his way. An old woman admitted him to the house, and he went into the sick-room. Lilly O'Connell was sitting by the cradle of the youngest child, which lay across her lap. She greeted him with a bow, and averted her head, but the glimpse he had of her face showed him that it was not only pale, but drawn as if with physical pain.
As he was about to leave his patient's side he looked toward her again, and his eyes fell upon the arm which supported the child's head. About the sleeve, a handkerchief, stained with blood, was tightly bound.
He went over to the corner where she was sitting.
"Will you come into the next room?" he said. "I would like to give you some directions about the medicine."
She gave him a quick, upward glance, arose, laid the baby in the arms of the old woman, and followed him mutely into the adjoining room, where a light was burning on the table, and stood before him, waiting for him to speak.
"You are hurt," he said, taking the bandaged arm in his hand. "That fellow has wounded you."
"I suppose he meant to kill me," she answered, leaning with the disengaged arm against the table.