“Dead! dead! and through my folly! Oh, what a bitter thought!” sobbed the poor girl, remorsefully.
But her father answered:
“No; thank Heaven, the wound was not a mortal one. The bullet was meant for his heart, but it was deflected from its course by a silver card-case in his breast-pocket, and imbedded itself in a less vital point. He was removed to Garfield Hospital, and will very likely recover.”
“But every one will be talking about it and blaming me. I can never hold up my head again!” moaned Viola, and strangely enough, the keenest inward pang was the instant thought: “What will Professor Desha say about it?”
To her joy and relief, her father answered, kindly:
“I have taken care of that, Viola, for your sake. There were but three men with me when young Merrington burst in upon us, and I have persuaded them to keep the truth a secret. The poor fellow himself is glad now, that he did not die, and glad that I invented a clever story to account for his accident. We told his mother, who was frantic with grief, that he was showing us a pistol supposed not to be loaded—common occurrence, you know—and it went off and wounded him. He will get well, I think; and as for you, dear, you must, as I said just now, turn over a new leaf.”
Viola clung to his neck, sobbing remorsefully:
“Oh, I will—I will, papa, if you will forgive me for the past! I hate flirting now, and will never be so thoughtless any more!”
CHAPTER X.
THEIR MEETING.