“But you are bleeding like a stuck pig,” Garner said. “Your handkerchief is literally soaked. And look at your shirt!”
“It's only skin-deep,” Carson cried. “I was stunned for a moment when it hit me, that's all.” Helen, followed by her father and Sanders, advanced hurriedly to meet the approaching group. They gave way as she drew near, and she and Dwight faced each other.
“The doctor is in the house, Carson,” she said, tenderly; “go in and let him examine your wound.”
“It's only a scratch, Helen, I give you my word,” he laughed, lightly. “I never saw such a squeamish set of men in my life. Even stolid old Bill Garner has had seven duck fits at the sight of my red handkerchief. How's my mother?”
Helen's eyes fell. “Your father says he is afraid it is quite serious,” she said. “The doctor is with her; she was unconscious.”
They saw Carson wince; his face became suddenly rigid. He sighed. “It may not be so well after all. Pete is safe for awhile, but if she—if my mother were to—” He went no further, simply staring blankly into Helen's face. Suddenly she put her hand up to his blood-stained temple and gently drew aside the matted hair. Their eyes met and clung together.
“You must let Dr. Stone dress this at once,” she said, more gently, Sanders thought, than he had ever heard a woman speak in all his life. He turned aside; there was something in the contact of the two that at once maddened him and drew him down to despair. He had dared to hope that she would consent to become his wife, and yet the man to whom she was so gently ministering had once been her lover. Yes, that was the man. He was sure of it now. Dwight's attitude, tone of voice, and glance of the eye were evidence enough. Besides, Sanders asked himself, where was the living man who could know Helen Warren and not be her slave forever afterwards?
“Well, I'll go right in,” Carson said, gloomily. He and Keith and Garner were passing through the gate when Linda called to him as she came hastily forward, but Keith and Garner were talking and Carson did not hear the old woman's voice. Helen met her and paused. “Let him alone to-night, mammy,” she said, almost bitterly, it seemed to Sanders, who was peering into new depths of her character. “Your boy is safe, but Carson is wounded—wounded, I tell you, and his mother may be dying. Let him alone for to-night, anyway.”
“All right, honey,” the old woman said; “but I'm gwine ter stay here till de doctor comes out en ax 'im how dey bofe is. My heart is full ter-night, honey. Seem 'most like God done listen ter my prayers after all.”
Sanders lingered with the pale, deeply distraught young lady on the veranda till Keith came out of the house, passed through the gate, and strode across the grass towards them.