“Oh, she will be all right in the morning, now that she has fallen into a nice sleep. I wouldn’t disturb her to-night, if I were you. It is nothing but nervousness and fright at that horrible firing. It’s all over now, thank God. Good-night, Margaret.”
The good woman came through the gate, and then ran, with all the speed of sixteen, toward her own home. Margaret stood in the doorway, listening to the retreating footsteps. She was pale and anxious, but Renmark thought he had never seen anyone so lovely; and he was startled to find that he had a most un-professor-like longing to take her in his arms and comfort her. Instead of bringing her consolation, he feared it would be his fate to add to her anxiety; and it was not until he saw she was about to close the door that he found courage to speak.
The girl had never heard her name pronounced in that tone before, and the cadence of it went direct to her heart, frightening her with an unknown joy. She seemed unable to move or respond, and stood there, with wide eyes and suspended breath, gazing into the darkness. Renmark stepped into the light, and she saw his face was haggard with fatigue and anxiety.
“Margaret,” he said again, “I want to speak with you a moment. Where is your brother?”
“He has gone with Mr. Bartlett to see if he can find the horses. There is something wrong,” she continued, stepping down beside him. “I can see it in your face. What is it?”
“Yes, but he is worried about mother. Tell me what it is. It is better to tell me.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense like this,” cried the girl in a low but intense voice. “You have said too much or too little. Has anything happened to Henry?”
“No. It is about Arthur I wanted to speak. You will not be alarmed?”
“I _am_ alarmed. Tell, me quickly.” And the girl in her excitement laid her hands imploringly on his.
“Arthur joined the volunteers in Toronto some time ago. Did you know that?”
“He never told me. I understand--I think so, but I hope not. He was in the battle today. Is he--has he been--hurt?”
“I don’t know. I’m afraid so,” said Renmark hurriedly, now that the truth had to come out; he realized, by the nervous tightening of the girl’s unconscious grasp, how clumsily he was telling it. “He was with the volunteers this morning. He is not with them now. They don’t know where he is. No one saw him hurt, but it is feared he was, and that he has been left behind. I have been all over the ground.”