“Louises what means this? A wounded man! Is it he—Henry?”
Before an answer can be given, his eye falls upon a cloak and hat—Henry’s!
“It is; he’s alive! Thank heaven!” He strides towards the couch.
The joy of an instant is in an instant gone. The pale face upon the pillow is not that of his son. The father staggers back with a groan.
Calhoun seems equally affected. But the cry from him is an exclamation of horror; after which he slinks cowed-like out of the cabin.
“Great God!” gasps the planter; “what is it? Can you explain, Louise?”
“I cannot, father. I’ve been here but a few minutes. I found him as you see. He is delirious.”
“And—and—Henry?”
“They have told me nothing. Mr Gerald was alone when I entered. The man outside was absent, and has just returned. I have not had time to question him.”
“But—but, how came you to be here?”