“Mr. McNish,” said Adrien, “she may not die.”
“Ma God!” he whispered, falling on his knees and catching her hand in both of his. “Ma God! Dinna lee tae me.”
“Believe me, I would not,” said Adrien, while the great eyes seemed to drag the truth from her very soul. “The doctor says nothing, but I have seen many cases of bullet wounds, and I have hope.”
“Hope,” he whispered. “Hope! Ma God! hope!” His hands went to his face and his great frame shook with silent sobbing.
“But you must be very quiet and steady.”
Immediately he was on his feet and standing like a soldier at attention.
“Ay, A wull,” he whispered eagerly. “Tell me what tae do?”
“First of all,” said Adrien, “we must have something to eat.”
A shudder passed through him. “Eat?” he said, as if he had never heard the word.
“Yes,” said Adrien. “Remember, you promised.”