Yet she was helpless. The matter was wholly out of her hands, and she
stood aghast before it, much as the small child stands aghast before the
burning house he has fired by accident.
Fyfe next. That was the ultimate, the culmination, which would leave her
forever transfixed with remorseful horror. The fact that already the
machinery of the law which would eventually bring Monohan to book for
the double lawlessness of arson and attempted homicide must be in
motion, that the Provincial police would be hard on his trail, did not
occur to her. She could only visualize him progressing step by step from
one lawless deed to another. And in her mind every step led to Jack
Fyfe, who had made a mock of him. She found her hands clenching till the
nails dug deep.
Linda's head drooped over the teacup. Her eyelids blinked.
"Dear," Stella said tenderly, "come and lie down. You're worn out."
"Perhaps I'd better," Linda muttered. "There's another room in there."
Stella tucked the weary girl into the bed, and went back to the kitchen,
and sat down in the willow rocker. After another hour the nurse came out
and prepared her own breakfast. Benton was still sleeping. He was in no
danger, the nurse told Stella. The bullet had driven cleanly through his
body, missing as by a miracle any vital part, and lodged in the muscles
of his back, whence the surgeon had removed it. Though weak from shock,
loss of blood, excitement, he had rallied splendidly, and fallen into a
normal sleep.
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