“No, by ——!” he said vehemently, with a sobbing oath. “I’m goin’ to stay till—till—”
His voice broke. Recovering himself, he continued, with an effort:
“It’s the least I can do. You can sleep on that couch in the front room. I’ll call you if she’s in bad pain.”
“All right—all right!” answered Musgrave gently and, gripping the Sergeant’s shoulder with a sympathetic pressure, “we won’t fight over it, old man. I understand. Call me if I’m needed. I don’t think your ‘guard’ will be very long now, though.”
CHAPTER XII
On those poor frail sisters who’ve fallen low,
And who suffer and die through the sins of men—
More sinned against, than sinning, I trow—
Shew Thy Mercy—Thy Pity—Lord Christ, Amen.
—Court of Common Pleas
Wearily, and with a throbbing pain in his torn ear, Ellis resumed his vigil. An hour slowly passed. Two hours. Suddenly a restless movement from the bed aroused him from the dreamy lethargy into which he had sunk, and he gazed into the wide-open, bewildered eyes of the awakened girl that were regarding him wonderingly through their long lashes.
“How did I come here?” she articulated painfully.
“I carried you in,” he said. “You’ve been in here for nearly three hours now.”
Her lips moved soundlessly, and she remained with puckered forehead, as if striving to collect her thoughts.