"What good? Possibly this dog Randolph would die. Possibly he would
live--as a lunatic. Possibly would happen what has happened! The senora
is beautiful. The American has eyes. If the Dona Josephine's beauty
shall finish what the silly Don Esteban's arm have begun--what matter?"
"Stop!" cried Josephine, pressing her hands across her shuddering eyes.
Then, uncovering her white and set face, she said rapidly, "Saddle my
horse and your own at once. Then take your choice! Come with me and
repeat all that you have said in the presence of that man, or leave this
ranch forever. For if I live I shall go to him tonight, and tell the
whole story."
The old man cast a single glance at his mistress, shrugged his
shoulders, and, without a word, left the room. But in ten minutes they
were on their way to the county town.
Day was breaking over the distant Burnt Ridge--a faint, ghostly level,
like a funeral pall, in the dim horizon--as they drew up before the
gaunt, white-painted pile of the hospital building.
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