"The doctor says he mustn't go out for a long time yet," said Mrs. Derrick. "When are you going to find the man that shot him?—that's what I want to know."
"When I get a composition from the only witness," Mr Simlins answered. "And as the witness ain't particular about testifying, I'm afeard it'll be a spell o' time yet. It'll come out. _I _should think the fellow'd ha' made tracks, fust thing; but I 'aint heerd of any one's bein' missin' from town,—except—"
Mr. Simlins suddenly started, stopped, and gazed at Faith with a most extraordinary expression.
"Did you look at my flowers, Mr. Simlins?" said Faith quite quietly, though without meeting his eye.
"I've seen nosegays afore," growled Mr. Simlins in a very uninterested manner. "I don't see as this is no more nor less than a nosegay. Do you s'pose I might go up and see somebody up stairs for two minutes, without creating any confusion?"
Mr. Simlins went up and shortly afterwards went away. But if Faith anticipated a good long lesson that afternoon, to make up for the morning and afternoon in which she had had none—albeit the morning had been better than lessons—she was to be disappointed. Hardly was the dinner over, and the muffins mixed which she was determined should make amends for Mr. Linden's poor breakfast, when Miss Harrison came; full of sorrow, and sympathy, and hope.
"Faith don't look a bit the worse, ma'am," she said to Mrs. Derrick.
"She couldn't look anyway but just so," her mother said with a fond glance.
"Why she could look pale, but I don't see that she does even that;—unless, perhaps, just such a tingy paleness as is rather becoming than otherwise. Dear Mrs. Derrick, I hope you have forgiven Julius?"
It was a sorrowful smile that met her words, and eyes that grew dim and looked away.