“No, miss, now do be quiet. Maybe he ain’t dead at all,” the good woman said, soothingly.
“But the pigeon—did he—not loose the pigeon last week?”
At the mention of the pigeon, Mrs. Adams started. Could the girl, whose accent betrayed her highland blood, know that she had freed the dragoon? It was an accident that he had escaped, and he had disappeared instantly, only circling once over the house.
“To be sure, Miss, did he loose the pigeon?”
“Yes, a white one—a big dragoon.”
“Well, now I wonder!”
Then a happy thought came to her.
“If he’s sick, Miss, he must be at the hospital.”
Helen rose, half dazed.
“It is very, very strange,” she said. “Nobody seems to know where he is, yet you know—you must know. May I go to his room?”