Part 32 (2/2)
”Molly,” he whispered, forgetting, ”is this really you? What has happened?”
The girl's eyes filled instantly with tears, but she did not move, except that the clasp of her hands grew stronger.
”Yes, I am Molly; please do not move yet. You have been hurt, but it is all right now.”
”Hurt!” he lifted his head slightly and stared about; then dropped it again with a sigh of content. ”Oh, yes, now I know. Hughes shot me from behind.” He struggled upright, in spite of her efforts at restraint, feeling beside him for the rifle. ”Dupont was there, behind that dead pony. What became of Dupont?”
She dropped her face in her hands, her form trembling.
”He--he got away. He thought you were dead; to--to make sure he came over and kicked you. Then he took your rifle, and the only pony left, and rode off.”
”And left you?”
”Yes--he--he never thought of me; only--only how he should escape with the money. I never moved, never opened my eyes; perhaps he believed me dead also, and--and I prayed he would. I would rather have died than have him touch me again. And--and I thought you were dead too. O G.o.d!
It was so horrible!”
The man's voice was soft and low, thrilling with the love that refused control.
”I know, dear; I know it all, now,” he said tenderly, clasping her hands. ”But that is all over and gone.” He put up one hand to his wound. ”Heavens, how my head aches! But that pain won't last long. I am a bit groggy yet, but will be on my feet pretty soon. You are a brave little girl. Tell me how you got free?”
She went over the short story slowly, not lifting her eyes to his, and he listened in silence, moving his limbs about, confident of the gradual return of strength.
”But how did it happen?” he asked. ”Your capture? Your father's death? It is all a mystery to me after I left you on the hotel balcony.”
The tears stood in her eyes suddenly uplifted to his, and impulsively the man encircled her with his arm.
”You know I care, dear,” he exclaimed recklessly. ”You are not afraid to tell me.”
”No, no; you have been so kind, so true. I can tell you everything--only it is so hard to confess the truth about my father.”
”You suspect he was implicated?” he asked in astonishment, ”that he actually had a part in the plot?”
She looked at him gravely, down into his very soul.
”Yes, and--and that hurts more than all the rest.”
CHAPTER x.x.xII
WORDS OF LOVE
Hamlin was silent for a moment, not knowing what to say that would comfort or help. He had never suspected this, and yet he could not refrain altogether from experiencing a feeling of relief. Deeply as he sympathized with her in this trouble, still the man could not but be conscious of those barriers formerly existing between them which this discovery had instantly swept away. Now they could meet upon a level, as man and woman. No longer could rank intervene; not even the stain of his own court-martial. Possibly she dreamed of what was pa.s.sing in his mind, for she suddenly lifted her eyes to his.
”Shall I tell you?”
”No; not now; both your explanation and mine can wait,” he replied quickly. ”I can stand alone now--see,” and he regained his feet, swaying slightly with dizziness, yet smiling down at her as he held forth a hand. ”Now you try it; take hold of me until you test your limbs--that was an ugly fall you got when I shot your pony.”
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