“Leave him for a moment; here is the doctor come to examine his wounds.”
Her weak arms were easily unclasped, and she permitted herself to be borne away. Of all the strange things that had occurred that night none seemed stranger to Ray than this sudden and wonderful quietude that had come over his fierce, passionate grandmother.
The doctor approached his patient to examine his wounds, and Pet, going over, began conversing in a low tone with Erminie, telling her how she had encountered Ranty. Ray stood watching the doctor, with interest and anxiety; and as, after a prolonged examination, he arose, he approached him and said, hurriedly:
“Well, doctor?”
The doctor shook his head.
“He may linger two, three days, perhaps, but certainly not longer. Nothing can save him.”
Ray’s very breath seemed to stop as he listened, till it became painful for those around to listen for its return. The wounded man himself looked up and beckoned Ray to approach.
“I knew I was done for,” he said, with a feeble smile. “I was surgeon enough to know it was a mortal wound. How long does he say I may live?”
“Two or three days,” said Ray, in a choking voice.
“So long?” said the smuggler, a dark shade passing over his face. “I did not think to cumber the earth such a length of time. How does she bear it?” pointing to his mother.