Part 19 (2/2)
”Dad's gone after Quintana.”
”Is he the fellow who misused you?”
”I think so.”
”Who is he?”
”I don't know.”
”Is he your enemy or your stepfather's?”
But the girl shook her head: ”I can't discuss dad's affairs with--with----”
”With a State Trooper,” smiled Stormont. ”That's all right, Eve. You don't have to.”
There was a pause; Stormont stood beside the bed, looking down at her with his diffident, boyish smile. And the girl gazed back straight into his eyes--eyes she had so often looked into in her dreams.
”I'm to cook you an egg and bring you some pie,” he remarked, still smiling.
”Did dad say I am to stay in bed?”
”That was my inference. Do you feel very lame and sore?”
”My feet burn.”
”You poor kid!... Would you let me look at them? I have a first-aid packet with me.”
After a moment she nodded and turned her face on the pillow. He drew aside the cover a little, knelt down beside the bed.
Then he rose and went downstairs to the kitchen. There was hot water in the kettle. He fetched it back, bathed her feet, drew out from cut and scratch the flakes of granite-grit and brier-points that still remained there.
From his first-aid packet he took a capsule, dissolved it, sterilized the torn skin, then bandaged both feet with a deliciously cool salve, and drew the sheets into place.
Eve had not stirred nor spoken. He washed and dried his hands and came back, drawing his chair nearer to the bedside.
”Sleep, if you feel like it,” he said pleasantly.
As she made no sound or movement he bent over to see if she had already fallen asleep. And noticed that her flushed cheeks were wet with tears.
”Are you suffering?” he asked gently.
”No.... You are so wonderfully kind....”
”Why shouldn't I be kind?” he said, amused and touched by the girl's emotion.
”I tried to shoot you once. That is why you ought to hate me.”
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