Her poor tortured wits discerned One, more
real than her crime, or George, or the woman that she had
killed. It was an old, hackneyed story, that He knew
every man and woman in the world, that He could help
them. She had heard it often.
Was there any thing in it? Could He help her?
Slowly, the nervous twitching of her body quieted, her
dulled eyes cleared as if a new power of sight were
coming to them.
After a long time she heard steps, and Selo calling. She
rose.
The murder was known. They were coming to arrest her.
What did it matter? She had found help.
Selo came up excitedly.
"It is another boat, English folk also, that comes to
arrive."
She turned and waited.
And then, coming up the hill, she saw George, and
with him--Lisa! Lisa, smiling as she talked.
They ran to meet her with cries of amazement. She
staggered back on the rock.
"You are not dead? Lisa----"
"Dead? Poor lady!" catching her in her arms. "Some
water, George! It is her head. She has been too much
alone."
When Frances opened her eyes she was lying on the grass,
her children kneeling beside her. She caught Lisa's arm
in both hands and felt it: then she sat up.
"I must tell you what I did--before you speak to me."
"Not now," said Lisa. "You are not well. I am going to
be your nurse. The baby has made me a very good nurse,"
and she stooped again over Frances, with kind, smiling
eyes.
Selo came to wile George up to the mysterious cave, but
Lisa impatiently hurried them to the beach.
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