Perhaps if she had something to do
besides playing with Connie and her friends all day, she would get
over this feeling of uselessness, and this haunting homesickness for
the hills and valleys, for her horses and dogs, and the old brick
house among the trees.
Suddenly she caught her breath and listened:
"He's coming home," Mr. Gooch was saying in the room behind her. "At
least, they've sent for him. Young Decker, who has just gotten back,
says Morley will come on a stretcher rather than have people believe
that he shot a man, then ran away. They had never heard a word of the
indictment."
"As I expected," the Doctor said, shuffling the cards. "When does he
return?"
"When he's able to travel, I suppose. Decker left him down with a
fever in a hospital in Singapore. He's done for himself, I am afraid."
"Very probably," said the Doctor. "Poor Donald! It's your lead."
Miss Lady slipped behind the curtain, and steadied herself by the
window sill. Why had her heart almost stopped beating? Why was it
beating now as if it would strangle her? Why did the thought of Donald
Morley lying ill and friendless in a foreign hospital rouse every
desire in her to go to him at once at any cost? Waves of surprise and
shame surged over her.
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