"Did he send you?" she asked.
"He raved of you in his delirium. He talked of you incessantly. He has begged me times without number to ask you to come and let him see you for a minute,--for an hour. We pulled him through the fever and the rest of it, but his physical recovery has not restored his mental tone. He will not take up his life in the old way. He vows now that as soon as we let go our present surveillance, he will enlist and get himself sent to the Philippines. I think he means it. And it would be rather a pity, for in his state of health, to go to the Philippines as a common soldier would mean a fairly expeditious form of suicide. It would, beyond the slightest question, break his mother's heart. And she has no one else,--her husband died less than a year ago. Philip's death would mean a rather sad end for a good old family that has written its name in its country's history more than once."
She had dropped her eyes when he began, but at the last word she looked up.
"And what of my family?" she asked. There was a vibrant undertone of suppressed feeling in her voice which made Burton look at her questioningly. Exactly what feeling was it that brought such a challenging light into her eyes? He took refuge in a generalization.
"In America, the families of the high contracting parties come in only for secondary consideration, don't they?" he suggested. "But I have discharged my commission very poorly if I have failed to make you understand that Philip's family is waiting to welcome you with entire love and--respect." In spite of himself, he had hesitated before the last word.
She laughed,--a forlorn little laugh that was anything but mirthful; but whatever answer she might have made was interrupted by the sounds of an unusual commotion outside. A woman's excited voice was heard in exclamations that were at first only half distinguishable.
"Oh, doctor, doctor, for the love of heaven what have you been in, now? What have you done to yourself? You're hurt, doctor, I can see that you're hurt!"
"Nonsense, Mrs. Bussey, don't make a fuss," a man's voice answered impatiently.
But the housekeeper who had admitted Burton now rushed into the drawing-room, calling hysterically: "Oh, Miss Leslie, your father is killed!" And thereupon she threw her apron up over her head to render her more effective in the emergency.
She was followed almost immediately by a sufficiently startling apparition,--a powerfully built man of more than middle age, with a keen blue eye and an eager face. But just now the face was disfigured by the blood that flowed freely from a wound on his temple, and he supported himself by the door as though he could not well stand alone.