Again the story paused.
‘And the man that shot him?’
I started at the intense fierceness in the voice, and, looking upon the girl, saw her eyes blazing with a terrible light.
‘He is dead,’ answered Graeme indifferently.
‘You killed him?’ she asked eagerly.
Graeme looked at her curiously, and answered slowly—
‘I did not mean to. He came at me. I struck him harder than I knew. He never moved.’
She drew a sigh of satisfaction, and waited.
‘I got him to a private ward, had the best doctor in the city, and sent for Craig to Victoria. For three days we thought he would live—he was keen to get home; but by the time Craig came we had given up hope. Oh, but I was thankful to see Craig come in, and the joy in the old man’s eyes was beautiful to see. There was no pain at last, and no fear. He would not allow me to reproach myself, saying over and over, “You would have done the same for me”—as I would, fast enough—“and it is better me than you. I am old and done; you will do much good yet for the boys.” And he kept looking at me till I could only promise to do my best.
‘But I am glad I told him how much good he had done me during the last year, for he seemed to think that too good to be true. And when Craig told him how he had helped the boys in the camp, and how Sandy and Baptiste and the Campbells would always be better men for his life among them, the old man’s face actually shone, as if light were coming through. And with surprise and joy he kept on saying, “Do you think so? Do you think so? Perhaps so, perhaps so.” At the last he talked of Christmas night at the camp. You were there, you remember. Craig had been holding a service, and something happened, I don’t know what, but they both knew.’