All the blood in her body seemed
concentrated at her heart. It was beating in heavy, sickening
throbs like the labouring of some clogged machinery.
He put his free hand on her shoulder with an abrupt movement that
made him for the moment oddly familiar. "It's a damned shame," he
said, and though his voice was low he spoke with feeling. "Look
here, child! This is no fault of mine. I never thought you could
make this mistake, never dreamed of such a possibility. I'm not
Guy at all. I am Burke Ranger--his cousin. And let me tell you at
once, we are not much alike now--whatever we have been in the past.
Here, don't faint! Sit down!"
He shifted his hand from her shoulder to her elbow, and supported
her to a chair. But she remained upon her feet, her white face
upraised, gazing at him--gazing at him.
"Not Guy! Not Guy!" She said it over and over as if to convince
herself. Then: "But where is Guy?" She clutched at his arm
desperately, for all her world was shaking. "Are you going to tell
me he is--dead?"
"No." Burke Ranger spoke with steady eyes looking straight into
hers. "He is not."
"Then why--then why--" She could get no further. She stopped,
gasping. His face swam blurred before her quivering vision,--Guy's
face, yet with an inexplicable something in it that was not Guy.
"Sit down!" he said again, and put her with quiet insistence into
the chair.
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