Rocky Ford enterprise., 1896-07-30

tne rlgnt DreaSt. must 10 ioit nonoous
suppose"
The risk of carrying Grant up the
hill was too great to be incurred, so BY
my instructions he was borne to the
inn. There, on my own bed, was placed
the man whom had, without one
thought Of compunction. that morning
gone out to kill. Now, an hour later.
hung over him in speechless agony,
awaiting the result Of the surgeons
examination.
Briefly, 1t was this: The bullet-my
hand. after all. must have swerved-
had entered the right breast, crashing
through the framework Of the bones.
and was now lying imbedded under
the shoulder-blade. It could be dis
tinctly felt In its resting-place. and by
and bye could be cut out. 1t was to be
hoped that no particle Of clothing had
been carried into the wound.
But would he live-would he ever be
himself again.? Undoubtedly. unless
unforeseen complications arose. The
cure would be a tedious affair, but he
would be cured.
AS l heard this favorable report, l
could have thrown myself on the sur
geon's neck and wept for JOY. II Eus-
tace Grant, when he thought himself
dying. could forgive me and strive to
shield me. felt certain he would for
give me when his recovery became an
assured fact, forgive. and. with his SOL
emn asseveration still echoing through
my mind, dared to hope. aid me in re-
gaining the woman who had left me
for some reason which was now yelled
in mystery. But thrust this dawning
hope into the background. At present
my one task must be to undo. or to
use every human means to avert the
dire consequences of. my murderous
deed
left the room, saw the innkeeper
and his wife. and gave such unlimited
instructions for every care and comfort
procurable. that the good peoples eyes
frightened. No doubt II seemed to
them that prosperous days were dawn
Ing on st. Seurin. ordered messen-
ger to be sent at once to L'Orlent to re-
geon the place boasted. should have
telegraphed to Paris for surgical aid.
but ] feared to waste precious time.
Then settled down to nurse my late
| foe as one nurses a brother. ! need
not give in detail the account OF
Grants progress toward recovery. l
need not describe the hopes and fears
which shook me each day he seemed n
little better or little worse. The an
guish felt when fever set in-and he
was for while delirious, and. as be-
lieved on the point of death-was 4
punishment I am fain to think almost
commensurate to my deserts. watched
him day and night. Such sleep as
took was snatched in bed laid at the
foot OF his. All the world for me SEEM
ed to be contained In that sick-room.
Even Viola was for the time almost
driven from my thoughts. Until Grant
grew we'll. could think OF no one but
him.
Everything he took was from my
hands. II seemed to me to be part OF
my atonement that should walt upon
him like n slave Had he turned from
me In disgust-had he by word or ges-
ture shown that the constant presence
OF the man who had done his best to
kill him was insupportable. I think
must have gone mad.
But he suffered me to nurse him;
nay. more. seemed grateful for my aid.
Perhaps 1t was my devotion and solici-
tude for the sufferer which averted the
suspicion which might well have fallen
upon me. I believe the local surgeon
guessed something Of the facts Of the
case. but he was discreet man and
said nothing. The people at the inn
were too much delighted with the
windfall to be curious as to how II was
brought to their feet.
As the local surgeon had predicted.
the case was long and tedious affair.
Four dreary weeks passed before I, for
one. could hope that danger was at an
end. Then. to my indescribable Joy.
Eustace Grant began to mend rapidly,
so rapidly that the little surgeon SWELL
ed with pride. and plumed himself up
on the successful Issue brought about
by his treatment.
BY his own request, Grant was mov-
ed TO his own house. the farm on the
hill
In shamefaced way. begged that
might be allowed to accompany him,
and continue my duties Of sick-nurse.
In reply, he held out his wasted left
hand. grasping my own, and SO set
tied the matter.
Scarcely word had yet passed be-
tween us concerning the vengeful act
OF mine which had SO nearly proved IA
tai to the man toward whom now feel
as a brother. Once or twice I stam-
mered out some prayer Of forgiveness.
He had always checked me by an ac-
ton. as one would make who has for
given. or who has nothing to forgive.
As all talk likely to agitate him had
been forbidden. was obliged to let my
expressions of contrition lie in abey-
ance. 1t was also part OF the punish
ment which meted out to myself that
during those weeks viola's name never
crossed my lips.
Grant, n great, gaunt wreck Of his
former self. was carried UP to Boulay's
farm.
The Journey did him no harm. The
change from the sheltered village to
the high, breezy table-land was most
beneficial one. In a fortnight's time he
sould. by leaning on my arm. creep