Daisie would have sunk to the floor but for the widow’s supporting arm, and she moaned, in distress:
“Ah, no, no, no!”
They were almost at the door, the minister and Mrs. Bell in advance, when, pausing a moment, Mrs. Fleming muttered:
“Compose yourself. I have told no one the truth, and perhaps I never shall. That will depend on you, Daisie Bell. But listen: When the fatal shot was fired, I looked around quickly, and saw the cruel murderer rushing from the scene. He was tall, and dark, and handsome, and I knew him at once; and I shrieked out his name, but I think no one heard it. So presently, even while they were all crying out to know who did it, I feigned swooning, and answered nothing, for a thought came to me, that——But come, let us go in to Royall now, poor boy!” dragging her over the threshold.
CHAPTER XVIII.
“BE KIND TO ME.”
Half dazed with horror, Daisie followed Mrs. Fleming over the threshold into the darkened room, where a grave-faced physician watched by the bedside of the dying man.
She saw Royall Sherwood lying among the pillows, his delicate blond complexion changed to a purplish pallor, his eyes closed, lying as still as if already dead.
The physician came to them softly, and whispered:
“He has fallen asleep, and it might be better not to disturb him until he awakes naturally.”
“But will he ever awake?” whispered Mrs. Fleming, with a stifled sob.