“When the doctor came this morning he was so pleased with the improvement, he said she was quite sure to get well now,” she said.
“Thank Heaven!” he cried fervently, and after a momentary hesitation, he added earnestly:
“Mrs. Cline, do me one favor, and I will never forget it. If that fellow, Weston, comes to see her again, do not admit him to see the patient. Tell him she is improving, but can see no one.”
“I’ll do as you say, sir, but Lor’ bless you, some of them actor folks comes here every day to ask about her.”
“But remember, I wish to be the first one admitted to her presence when she is able to see any one,” he replied.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE HAPPY MEETING.
But April had succeeded March before Berry was fairly convalescent.
A long and weary month she had lain upon that bed of pain before life struggled back for certain into her weary, battered frame, and the light of memory shone again in her big, pathetic brown eyes.
Then she began to get well very fast, and to betray a great curiosity over everything, asking questions that the doctor said might be freely answered.
So before she was permitted to see any one but her nurses, she knew all there was to tell—that Charley Bonair, the millionaire senator’s only son, had rescued her from Bruin’s clutches at the peril of his own life, and that the mysterious assailant had put a ball in his shoulder as he bent over her in the pit.