“Thank Heaven!” cried Mrs. Finley gladly, and her wicked husband could not help slightly echoing her words, for he was beginning to feel like a murderer, remembering how he kept at white heat, by his taunts and sneers, the fire of murderous rage in Willie Laurens’ heart.
“She must be put to bed at once, and her wound dressed,” said the physician; and they carried her upstairs to her own room, where she had spent such unhappy hours four years ago. Then Mr. Finley said:
“Doctor Hewitt, I would be glad to keep this whole miserable affair, even Pansy’s presence in this house, a secret, for the sake of her innocent young sisters. Will you help me to do it?”
“Yes,” Doctor Hewitt replied, and then he sent Mr. Finley down to see after the patient who had been forgotten for the moment in the horror of this new calamity.
When Pansy’s wound had been dressed she revived, and found her mother and sister by her side. They greeted each other with solemn, tender sadness, and then Pansy recognized the physician, and asked him quietly if she were going to die.
“I hope not. Your wound is a painful one, but not necessarily dangerous. With good nursing, you will recover,” he replied pleasantly, and then he went down to see about Alice.
Pansy lay for a long time in silence, then asked that Willie might come to her. When he came into the room, it seemed as if years had gone over his head, he was so changed by his grief and remorse.
If she knew that his hand had fired that fatal shot, she made no sign of her knowledge. Greeting him with tender sisterly love, she drew him down to her, and whispered softly:
“Go to Franklin Street, and tell Colonel Falconer to come with you to see his wife. Yes, I am his wife, Willie,” as he started wildly. “Do not tell him I was wounded. It would startle him too much. Only ask him to come to me.”
She realized that further concealment of her past, after all that had happened would be useless. She must confess all, and throw herself on Colonel Falconer’s mercy.