He shuddered at the thought, as if a cold wind had struck him.
"I think you need not worry about him," said the girl faintly. "I suppose by this time he is in such a condition that he will never worry another soul in the world."
The other turned and looked at her for a long, grave moment.
"You think he attempted to break into the house?"
"And didn't you expect the same thing? Why else did you leave New York?"
"I confess that was my idea, but I think no harm has come to him. The chances are nine out of ten, at least, that he has not been badly hurt."
She turned away, her hands clenched hard.
"Oh my honor," he insisted with some emotion. "I gave directions that, if he made an attack, he was not to be harmed more than necessary to disarm him."
"Knowing that to disarm him would mean to kill him."
"Not at all. After all he is not such a terrible fellow as that—not at all, my dear. A blow, a shot might have dropped him. But, unless it were followed by a second, he would not be killed. Single shots and single blows rarely kill, you know."