Then she asked, quite naturally, if Mr. Ellett had been told, and learning that he had not, sent Jack to find Polycarp, that he might take a note to the Island. When Jack came back with the Indian, Rose said:
“I must see papa about the note for Mr. Ellett. Ah, here he comes.” She did not wait to complete this business, but turned to the canoe where Carington still lay, and said:
“Good night, and good-by, too, for a few days. Mama will keep you well caged. You may rest assured of that!”
In the very dim light she saw him put out the hand nearest to her. She took it, felt the lingering grasp, already fever-hot, that would have delayed the moment’s soft prisoner, but dared not. She said again:
“Good night. Here is papa,” and moved away, at first slowly, and then quickly.
When Mr. Lyndsay entered the cabin his wife looked up.
“What is it, Archie?”
“Don’t be alarmed, Margaret. Mr. Carington has been shot—badly wounded.”
“Not by Jack!” cried the mother.
“Oh, no! No. It’s a queer story. I have not heard it fully. He bled a good deal, and—”