Instantly, then,
Joan opened her eyes, looked in a dazed fashion about her, and pressing
both hands against her heart, fell with a sharp cry into my arms that
were just in time to catch her.
And an answering cry sounded across the lagoon--thin, wailing, piteous.
It came from Sangree's tent.
"Fool!" cried Dr. Silence, "you've wounded him!" and before we could
move or realise quite what it meant, he was in the canoe and half-way
across the lagoon.
Some kind of similar abuse came in a torrent from my lips, too--though I
cannot remember the actual words--as I cursed the man for his
disobedience and tried to make the girl comfortable on the ground. But
the clergyman was more practical. He was spreading his coat over her and
dashing water on her face.
"It's not Joan I've killed at any rate," I heard him mutter as she
turned and opened her eyes and smiled faintly up in his face. "I swear
the bullet went straight."
Joan stared at him; she was still dazed and bewildered, and still
imagined herself with the companion of her trance.
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