It seemed as though that report awakened Philip Norton from the fit of
mad despair that had prompted him to seek in oblivion the rest he could
not find here--awakened him to the sense that he must be a murderer; for
there, stretched at his feet, her light muslin dress already deeply
stained by the blood flowing from her shoulder, lay the brave girl who
had struggled to his side to suffer, almost with the loss of her own,
for her successful endeavour to save his life. For some minutes, as he
stood there in that dim pine arcade, Philip Norton's brain was giddy; he
felt as though awakening from some horrible dream, and it was only by an
effort that he could recall the present; when, throwing the pistol
aside, he knelt down by the fainting girl, and by means of his
handkerchief succeeded in staunching the blood flowing from a long,
jagged wound torn by the bullet in its passage along her shoulder.
The sight of the wounded girl, as she lay pale and insensible at his
feet, and the knowledge that it was his work, seemed to drive back the
horrible thoughts of self, forcing him into action; and the next minute,
trembling in every limb with anxiety for her safety, he was running to
the nearest pit for water, bringing it in his soft hat, a little at a
time, to sprinkle her stern marble face. Again and again he ran to and
fro, growing more and more excited, but with a healthy excitement that
moved his better impulses; for, forgetting his own pain, interest was
excited in the deliverer whom he told himself that he had slain, to
recompense her for her bravery in his behalf. But it was long before
animation began to reappear, and the colour to return to Ada Lee's face.
Twice, though, Norton had been encouraged to persevere in his efforts
by a sigh; and he had chafed her cold hands, torn off his coat to fold
and place beneath her head, seen to, and tightened the bandage so that
the blood was staunched, and had at last determined to bear her back
into the village at all hazards. Then her soft blue eyes slowly
unclosed, as he kneeled by her side, his arms gently supporting her
against his breast, preparatory to rising and carrying her over the
treacherous ground to the footpath.
But the sight of those soft eyes gazing into his so wonderingly,
arrested him, and for a few minutes no word was spoken, till by slow
degrees, realising all that had passed, Ada's eyes lost their strange
wondering look, a shudder ran through her frame, and the old aspect of
horror came back.
"Are you hurt?" she gasped.
"No," he said, gently; and there was pity for her in his tones.
"Not hurt?" she gasped again. "But the pistol?"
"Hush!" he said, sadly. "You must not speak. You are wounded, and I am
a soldier, and have seen and known many wounds. You must be quiet until
I can get you back to the village."
"But you are safe--not hurt?" she said.
"No--no!" he exclaimed, impetuously. "I--I--"
"Yes--yes, I know. I remember all," she said, eagerly. "I startled
you--the pistol went off by accident--it struck me."
She smiled in his face as she spoke, while, burning with grief and
shame, he cried:
"Oh, Miss Lee, Miss Lee, has it come to this? Good Heaven! am I fallen
so low that I must screen myself in this way? I am a coward--a
pitiful--"
"Hush--hush!" she cried, and her little hand was laid upon his lips. "I
know how you suffered. I was in dread lest you should do anything
rashly, and I followed; but it is our--your secret. Let it be hidden
for ever. You may trust me."
Philip Norton groaned. "Hidden! How can it be hidden?" he said, as he
pointed to her wounded shoulder, when, with the hot blood suffusing her
face, she dragged the scarf she wore over the deep stain, and essayed to
sit up, but fell back weak, and half fainting.
Laying her gently down, he again fetched water, and bathed her face,
when, reviving somewhat, she lay with her eyes half closed, and lips
moving gently.
"Did you speak?" he said, as he bent over her.
"No," she said, after a few moments. "I was praying. Will you try to
lift me up?"
Philip raised her a little, but she winced from the sharp pain caused by
the movement, upon which he desisted; but, with a smile, she begged him
to help her to her feet. A few moments' trial, though, showed that she
was utterly incapable of walking, when, taking her in his arms, Norton
slowly and carefully bore her amidst the pine trees to the edge of the
marsh, whence, after a brief rest, he again proceeded, bringing her over
the soft, springy ground, till, during a longer rest, he said to her, in
sad tones:
"I thought the age of miracles was past, but an angel was sent to stay
my hand." Then, heedless of her remonstrance, he continued: "How am I
ever to repay you for the injury I have done?"
"By acting as a man should," she said, softly; "by ceasing to be a
coward. You," she exclaimed excitedly, "a soldier--a man whom we
loved--to fly from suffering like that! It was cruel to all--to
Marion--to yourself! How could--"
"For Heaven's sake, spare me!" he groaned. "The sight of what I have
done seems to have brought me back to a life of greater suffering. But
you need not fear; I will bear it."
Book 1, Chapter VIII.