"I brought you back
when you were all but gone. I saved you after the others had given
you up, and now you are mine to do with as I please. You belong to
me and I sha'n't consult you--" She turned, for a figure had
darkened the door; it was one of her English-speaking
convalescents who was acting as a sort of orderly.
"Senorita," the man said, with a flash of white teeth, "we have
another sick man, and you'd never guess who. It is that American,
El Demonio--"
"Mr. Branch?"
"Si! The very same. He has just come from the front."
"Is he sick or wounded?" Esteban inquired.
"Shot, by a Spanish bullet. He asked at once for our senorita."
"Of course. I'll come in an instant." When the messenger had gone
Norine bent and pressed her lips to Esteban's. "Remember, you're
mine to do with as I please," she said; then she fled down the
grassy street.
Branch was waiting at Norine's quarters, a soiled figure of
dejection. His left arm lay in a sling across his breast. He
looked up at her approach, but she scarcely recognized him, so
greatly changed was he.
Leslie had filled out. There was a healthy color beneath his deep
tan, his flesh was firm, his eyes clear and bright.
"Hello, Norine!" he cried. "Well, they got me."
Norine paused in astonishment. "'Way, LESLIE! I was so frightened!
But--you can't be badly hurt.
Pages:
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434