The doctor spoke. “’Twas your sister,” said he, “found the way. She discovered a word,” he continued, turning tenderly to her, his voice charged with new and solemn feeling, “that I’d forgot.”
“A word!” said I, amazed.
“Just,” he answered, “one word.”
’Twas mystifying. “An’ what word,” I asked, “might that word be?”
“‘Expiation,’” he replied.
I did not know the meaning of that word—nor did I care. But I was glad that my dear sister—whose cleverness (and spirit of sacrifice) might ever be depended upon—had found it: since it had led to a consummation so happy.
“Skipper Tommy saved?” I enquired
“He’s with the twins at the Rat Hole.”
“Then,” said I, rising, “as you’re both busy,” said I, in a saucy flash, “I’ll be goin’——”
“You’ll not!” roared the doctor. And he leaped from his seat—bore down upon me, indeed, like a mad hurricane: my sister laughing and clapping her little hands. So I knew I must escape or have my bones near crack under the pressure of his affection; and I was agile—and eluded him.