CHAPTER XVII.
BITTER RIVALRY.
He had his hands full certainly, with his two patients, for Charley Bonair insisted that he should examine the young lady first to see if there were the least hope of her recovery from the swoon or unconsciousness that seemed to them all so terribly like death itself.
When Madam Fortescue returned from the cottage two hours later, the grand ball was ending—the “dear five hundred friends” tearing themselves away.
With commendable self-possession she received their adieus, and waited till her weary nieces had got into their dressing gowns before she called them together and imparted her important news.
Lucile and Marie were sadly frightened, and tears flowed fast from their beautiful eyes.
“Poor, dear brother, we must go to him at once,” they cried, but Madam Fortescue forbade it.
“No, the physician wished him to rest quietly to-night in the care of Sam Cline, but you both will be allowed to see him to-morrow. The wound is not necessarily dangerous, but it is better for him to remain a day or two at the cottage before he comes home.”
“And the pretty little actress—Miss Vane. Do you say that she revived?” cried Marie.
“She has shown signs of life, that is all. The poor young girl’s body is a mass of bruises. He did not find any broken bones, however, and says she owes her escape from that to the thick red blanket of the murderous old squaw that fell down on her, and formed with its folds a cushion against the fury of Zilla’s blows.”
The two young girls shuddered with horror over the story. They recalled the bright beauty of the sparkling young actress with keen admiration, and realized the difference now with heartfelt sorrow.