As they turned to leave the room Elizabeth Denton suddenly seized Patsy's hand.
"He will live?" she whispered. "Tell me he will live!"
Patsy's heart sank, but she summoned her wits by an effort.
"I am not a surgeon, my dear, and do not know how serious the wound may be," she answered, "but I assure you it will gladden his heart to see you again. He thinks and speaks only of you."
The girl-wife studied her face a moment and then dropped her hand and hurried after her mother.
"I fibbed, Uncle," said Patsy despondently. "I fibbed willfully. But—how could I help it when she looked at me that way?"