But suddenly she realized the boy’s condition. He was on the verge of collapse from sheer dread of physical hurt. His face was ashen, and his eyes were almost starting from their sockets. In an agony of remorse and fear she released him and knelt before him.
“I’m sorry, Elia. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But––but you haven’t told Doc?” she cried piteously. “Say you haven’t, dear. Oh, God!”
She abruptly buried her face in her hands as though to shut out the horrid sight of this thing her brother had done.
Elia recovered quickly, but his vicious glee had dropped to a sulky savagery.
“You’re a fule, sis,” he said, in a sullen tone. “I sure did it for you––an’ ’cos I hate him. But say,” he cried, becoming suddenly suspicious. “I didn’t tell Doc who it was. I kep’ my promise to Peter. I sure didn’t give him away. So why for do you raise sech a racket? An’ anyway if he hangs you won’t be married to him no more. You–––”
He broke off, listening. The sound of a horse galloping could be plainly heard. The noise abruptly ceased, and the boy looked up with the light of understanding in his eyes.
“One o’ the boys, sis. One o’ Doc’s boys. Mebbe–––”
But he was interrupted by the opening of the outer door, and Peter Blunt strode in.
The expression of the man’s face was sufficient explanation of his unceremonious visit. He made no pretense at apology. He glanced swiftly round the little parlor, and finally espied Eve and her brother through 261 the open kitchen door. He hurried across and stood before them, his eyes on the boy he had spent two days searching for.
“Thank God I’ve found you, laddie–––” he began.