That was a lie, but the girl did not choose, for some reason, to say so.
"Come," she said, striving to arise. "Help me home."
"One moment!" cried Bull, holding her back. "Promise me one thing, one thing before you go."
"What is it?"
"I know the whole story, Mary," he said. "I know how he has treated you, how he has cast you off, made a puppet of you, and all for that Grace Fuller! You say you hate him. So do I. Promise me, promise me to be revenged if you have to die for it."
"I will!" cried she, furiously.
"Will you give me your hand on it?"
"I will."
Bull took her home that night, though he was in no hurry about it. He came in after taps, for he thought it would do him good to hand in his explanation that he had been saving a girl's life, and restoring her to consciousness. A girl; perhaps a girl upon whom murder had been attempted.
He evaded all details, however, and went to his tent chuckling triumphantly at his evil work that night.