"Yas, she sure have saved his life," said Sally. "Heap o' times they nevah do come out en that thar kin' o' sleep. I done seed sech before."

"Ef he have come to hisself, you reckon I bettah wake 'em up and give her a leetle hot milk? She hain't eat nothin' sence yestiday."

"Naw, leave 'em be. No body nevah hain't starved in his sleep yit, I reckon."

"He hain't eat nothin', neithah. He sure have been bad hurted."

The two women sat in the large room and talked in low tones, while at intervals Azalea crept to the door and looked in on them.

At last the baby wailed out with l.u.s.ty cry, which sounded through the stillness of the house and roused Ca.s.sandra, but as she lifted her head, David clung to her and drew her cheek to his lips.

"Are you hurt?" he murmured. In some strange way he had confused matters, and thought it was she who had been shot.

"It's not me that's hurt," she said tenderly.

Azalea hurried away and returned with the warm milk she had prepared for Ca.s.sandra, who took it and held it to David's lips.

"Drink it, Doctah. She won't touch anything till you do."

Then he obeyed, slowly drinking it all, his eyes fixed on Ca.s.sandra's as a child looks up to his mother. As she rose, he held her with his free hand.

"What is it? How long--" His voice sounded thin and weak. "Strange--I can't lift this arm at all. Tell me--"

"Seems like I can't. When you are strong again, I will."

Feebly he tried to raise himself. "Don't, oh, don't, Doctah Thryng. If you bleed again, you'll die," she wailed.

"Sit near me."

She drew a low chair and sat near him, as she had through the slow and anxious hours, and again he drowsed off, only to open his eyes from time to time as if to a.s.sure himself that she was still there. Again Azalea brought her milk and white beaten biscuit, hot and sweet, and Ca.s.sandra ate. When David opened his eyes to look at her, she smiled on him, but would not let him talk to her.

Nevertheless his mind was busy trying to understand why he was lying thus, and dimly the events of the last few days came back to him, shadowy and confused. When he looked up and saw her smile, his heart was satisfied, but when he closed his eyes again, a strange sense of tragedy settled down upon him, but what or why he knew not. Suddenly he called to her as if from his sleep, "Have I killed some one?" and there was horror in his voice.

"No, no, Doctor Thryng. You been nigh about killed yourself. Oh, why didn't I send for a doctor who could do you right! Bishop Towers won't know anything about this."

"What have you done?"

"I sent for Bishop Towers."

"Who did me up like this?"

She was silent and, rising quickly, stepped out on the porch, her cheeks flaming crimson. Yesterday in her terror and frenzy she could have done anything; but now--with his eyes fixed on her face so intently--she could not reply nor tell how, alone, she had stripped him to the waist and bound him about with the homespun cotton of her dress to stanch the bleeding before hurrying down the mountain for help.

Instinctively she had done the right thing and had done it well, but now she could not talk about it. David tried to call after her, but she had gone around into the next room and taken the baby from his cradle, where he was wailing his demands for attention. Azalea had gone out for a moment, and Aunt Sally "lowed the' wa'n't no use sp'ilin him by takin'

him up every time he fretted fer hit. Hit would do him good to holler an' stretch." So she sat still and smoked.

Ca.s.sandra walked up and down the porch, comforted by the feeling of the child in her arms. The small head bobbed this way and that until she pressed it against her cheek and held him close, and he gradually settled down on her bosom, his face tucked softly in the curve of her neck, and slept. She heard David speaking her name and went to him, but he only looked up at her and smiled.

"I'm sorry I left you alone," she said tenderly; "I'll call Aunt Sally."

"No--wait--I only want--to look at you."

She stood swaying her lithe body to rock the sleeping child. David thought he never had seen anything lovelier. How serious his wounds were, he did not know. But one thing he knew well, and to that one thought he clung. He wanted Ca.s.sandra where he could see her all the time. He wished she would talk to him, and not let him lose consciousness, relapsing into the horror of a strange dream that continued to haunt him.

"Do you love that baby?" he asked, his voice faint and high.

"He's a right nice baby."

"I say--do you love him?"

"Why--I reckon I do. Don't try to move that way, Doctah. You may not be done right, and you'll bleed again. Oh, we don't know--we are so ignorant--Azalie and me--"

He smiled. "Nothing matters now," he said.

They heard voices, and she looked out from the doorway. "It's Hoke.

They've sent old Doctor Bartlett. I'm so glad. Aunt Sally, I reckon they'll need hot water. Get some ready, will you?"

"Ca.s.sandra, Ca.s.sandra!" called David, almost irritably.

She came back to him.

"Where are they?"

"Down the road a piece. I'm glad. You'll be done right now."

"Stoop to me." She obeyed, and the free arm caught and held her, then, as the voices drew near, released her with glowing eyes and burning cheeks.

She stepped out on the porch to meet them, half hiding her face behind the babe in her arms, and old Dr. Bartlett, as he looked on her with less prejudiced and more experienced eyes, thought he too never had seen anything lovelier.

"He's awake," said Ca.s.sandra quietly to Hoke, and the two men went to David. She carried the child back and asked Aunt Sally to wait on them, while she sat down in a low splint rocker, clinging to the little one and listening, with throbbing nerves, to the voices in the room beyond.

When Hoke came out to them a moment later, Azalea began eagerly to question him, but Ca.s.sandra was silent.

"Doctah says we bettah tote 'im ovah to his own place to-day. Aunt Sally 'lows she can bide thar fer a while an' see him well again."

"You hain't goin' to 'low that, be ye, Hoke? Hit mount look like we wa'n't willin' fer him to bide 'long of us."

"Hit hain't what looks like, hit's what's best fer him," said Hoke, sagely. "Whatevah doctah says, we'll do." Then Hoke laughed quietly. "He done tol' Doctor Bartlett 'at he reckoned somebody mus' 'a' took him fer some sorter wild creetur an' shot him by mistake. I guess Frale's safe enough f'om him, if the fool boy only know'd hit."

"Frale, he's plumb crazy, the way he's b'en actin'," said Azalea.

"An' Bishop Towahs he telegrafted 'at he'd send this here doctah, an'

he'd come up to-morrer with Miz Towahs to stop ovah with you, so I reckon yer maw wants you down thar, Ca.s.s."

Ca.s.sandra rose quickly and placed the sleeping child gently in his cradle box. "I'll go," she said. "There's no need for me here now.

Hoke--you've been right good--" She stopped abruptly and turned to his wife. "I must wear your dress off, Azalie, but I'll send it back by Hoke as soon as. .h.i.t's been washed." She went out the door almost as if she were eager to escape.

"Hain't ye goin' to wait fer yer horse?" said Hoke, laughing. "Set a minute till I fetch him."