But some one else—the doctor I think—put in a word.
“It can’t make any difference. She must know sooner or later, poor child. Lay him down here, under this tree. I doubt if we get him to the house alive.”
They laid him under a big blackwood tree, and the doctor put his head on my lap. Such a still white face as it was, with the eyes closed and just a drop or two of blood round the corners of the mouth.
“Oh, doctor,” I said, and it seemed to me my own voice was far, far away, farther even than those of the men who were standing around me, “he will get well, he will, he must! He can’t be much hurt.”
But the doctor said nothing, and the fear that was in my heart grew and grew as I stooped over my lover and, careless of onlookers, kissed him again and again.
“My darling, my darling, my darling, you must get well soon,” for I would not see that there was much amiss; ten minutes ago he had been full of life; half an hour ago I had been in his arms.
Very wearily his eyes opened and I saw he knew me.
“My poor little girl,” he said, “My poor little Hope,” and his hand clasped mine as I had dreamed a moment ago it would, as if he would care for me and guard me all through life.
And then—and then—Hope, dear, there isn’t any more to tell. He died there in my arms, and at first I could not believe it, but the doctor took me away to my mother, and she was kind to me—yes, she was very tender to me; but what can anyone do when all the happiness has gone out of one’s life. Then I began to grow old, dear, though I was not twenty, and I have been growing old ever since.
Why, there ‘re tears in your eyes, child! Don’t cry; I am old now and some of the bitterness has gone. One doesn’t understand why the good Lord should let life be so bitter for some of us, but I suppose it is for some good reason, only—only, you see it was another man’s wickedness spoiled my life. Yes, yes, I know there was foul play. Dick Stanton rushed his horse down on Boatman like that, just to spoil his chance of the race, and many there were who thought as I did; but who could prove it? No, I don’t think even now he meant to kill him.