"It's all very fine, saying it was a accident," said the doctor, with a knowing nod and a smile. "Accident, indeed! If it was, why should he refuse to say who had a hand in the accident, besides himself? But there's no need to make a secret of the matter, for unless something unexpected should occur, he must, in the ordinary course of things, be well in little more than a week. It's an odd wound. The ball struck the collar bone and broke it, glancing upward. If it had penetrated obliquely downward instead, it might have killed him on the spot."
"No; he's very reserved; fellows in his situation often are; they don't like figuring in the papers, you understand; or being bound over to be of good behaviour; or, possibly, prosecuted. But no trouble will come of this; and he'll be on his legs again in a very few days."
With this re-assuring news the doctor left us. Miss Grey was relieved. One thing seemed pretty certain; and that was that the guilty and victorious duellist would not venture to appear in our part of the world for some time to come.
"Will you come with me to-day, to ask how he gets on?" I said to Laura as soon as the doctor was gone.
"No, I can't do that; but it would be very kind of you: that is, if you have no objection."
"None in the world; we must get Rebecca to make broth, or whatever else the doctor may order, and shall I mention your name to Mrs. Prichard? I mean, do you wish the patient--shall we call him--to know that you are here?"
"Oh! no, pray. He is the last person on earth----"
"Perfectly. I entreat, dear Ethel, that you run no risk of my name being mentioned."
"Why, Mr. Marston knows that you are here," I said persistently.
"Bad as that was, this would be intolerable. I know, Ethel, I may rely on you."
"Well, I won't say a word--I won't mention your name, since you so ordain it."
Two or three days passed. As I had been the good Samaritan, in female garb, who aided the wounded man in his distress, I was now the visiting Sister of Mercy, the ministering angel--whatever you are good enough to call me--who every day saw after his wants, and sent, sometimes soup, and sometimes jelly, to favour the recovery of which the doctor spoke so sanguinely.
I did not feel the romantic interest I ought perhaps to have felt in the object of my benevolence. I had no wish to see his face again. I was haunted by a recollection of him that was ghastly. I am not wanting in courage, physical or moral. But I should have made a bad nurse, and a worse soldier; at the sight of blood I immediately grow faint, and a sense of indescribable disgust remains.