She bent over him for
a moment, and one of the tender hands at his cheeks met the flow of
fresh blood and did not shrink. "Sally," she said, "bring the scarf out
of my coat. There's a veil too. Bring that. Russ, you get me some
water--pour some in the pan there."
"Water!" whispered Steele.
She gave him a drink. Sally came with the scarf and veil, and then she
backed away to the stone, and sat there. The sight of blood had made her
a little pale and weak. Miss Sampson's hands trembled and her tears
still fell, but neither interfered with her tender and skillful dressing
of that bullet wound.
Steele certainly said a lot of crazy things. "But why'd you come--why're
you so good--when you don't love me?"
"Oh, but--I do--love you," whispered Miss Sampson brokenly.
"How do I know?"
"I am here. I tell you."
There was a silence, during which she kept on bathing his head, and he
kept on watching her. "Diane!" he broke out suddenly.
"Yes--yes."
"That won't stop the pain in my head."
"Oh, I hope so."
"Kiss me--that will," he whispered. She obeyed as a child might have,
and kissed his damp forehead close to the red furrow where the bullet
cut.
"Not there," Steele whispered.
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