She stirred slightly. I was beside her in a moment. Her eyelids opened slowly. Then her eyes filled with terror.
"Where is he?" she muttered.
"Dead; he cannot hurt you any more. You are safe now."
"No, Treevor, I am dying; it pains me so here."
She laid one hand on her breast and I saw the blood well up between two fingers. I tore aside the muslin veils on her bosom and found the wound: it was not large, just one clean stab, turning purple at the edges.
"It is deep, Treevor; so deep. And it bleeds inside me. It is drinking my life. I have only a few minutes to tell you. Hold up my head. I can't breathe."
I slipped my arm beneath her little neck. My heart seemed breaking with distress; black tides of resentment, of rage went through me, that she should be torn from me.
"Listen, Treevor. It was I that lied to you. I told you he was dead, and the child. They were not. I ran away. I left them at Sitka. I came to 'Frisco and took refuge with that woman. Then I wrote to you."
A sudden horror of her seemed to enfold me as I heard.
How she had lied and deceived me! And forced me to break my word!