Madge's faint proved obstinate, and at last Graydon began to urge the
farmer to go for a physician.
The daughter at last appeared with the glad tidings that the young
girl was "coming to nicely."
Graydon breathed a fervent "Thank God!" and sank weak and limp into
a seat on the porch. The farmer brought him a glass of cool milk from
the cellar, and then Graydon sent in word that he would like to see
the lady as soon as possible.
When he entered the "spare room" of the farmhouse Madge, with a smile
that was like a ray of sunshine, extended her hand from the lounge on
which she was reclining, and said:
"You didn't fail me, Graydon. I couldn't have kept up a moment longer.
I should have fainted before had I not heard your voice. How good God
has been!"
He held her hand in both his own, his mouth twitched nervously, but
his emotion was too strong for speech.
"Don't feel so badly, Graydon," she resumed, and her voice was
gentleness itself; "I am not hurt, nor are you to blame."
"I am to blame," he said, hoarsely. "I gave you that brute, but he's
dead. I shot him instantly. Oh, Madge, if--if--I feel that I would
have shot myself."
"Graydon, please be more calm," she faltered, tears coming into her
eyes.
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