“Be more quiet, dear, lest you excite Royall too much. See how wild he looks.”
“No, no—let her say what she will. I see that she is on my side,” he faltered, with half-closed eyes and a quivering smile.
Annette turned again quickly to Daisie, saying wildly:
“Yes, yes; I am on his side! I want him to get well! So, will you promise what he wishes, Daisie?”
“Annette, come away with me a while, dear, and let us talk this over,” Daisie answered, taking the girl’s burning hand in her own and leading her away to Mrs. Fleming’s boudoir. “Now, calm yourself, and let us understand each other. Do you know who shot Mr. Sherwood?” she asked suspiciously.
“No, no—of course not, Daisie! What a very foolish question!” panted Annette in visible alarm.
“Well, then, tell me how you found out so quickly that this had happened, and how came you here at this gloomy midnight hour—you, who have been too ill to leave your bed?”
“I—I——Oh, Daisie, wait till I think a bit! My head seems dazed with it all. Yes, yes; this is the way: Our servant girl brought the news. She had been up here looking on at the play, and stayed very late. So it happened—that ghastly thing—before she came away. I was awake and restless when she came back, so I called to her for some ice water. She came in and told me all, and that Mrs. Fleming had sent for you. I wanted to come and help you, so I made Lucy come with me, and then sent her to break it to mamma, who will be terribly angry at me, I know. But I don’t care—I don’t care for anything, so that Royall Sherwood gets well.”
“Are you in love with him, Annette?”
“Of course not, you silly girl! Don’t you know that I have a splendid lover in the West?” laughing hysterically.