He reeled; the blood spun out; but he did not fall, although he grew white.
Alice stood gazing at him with a look on her face he would never forget.

It was a look that changed by wonderful swift gradations from terrible hate to something like sweet pity.

The instant she saw him hurt and bleeding, his countenance relaxing and pale, her heart failed her.

She took a step toward him, her hand opened, and with a thud the heavy old pistol fell upon the ground beside her.
Father Beret sprang nimbly to sustain Farnsworth, snatching up the pistol as he passed around Alice.
"You are hurt, my son," he gently said, "let me help you." He passed his arm firmly under that of Farnsworth, seeing that the Captain was unsteady on his feet.
"Lean upon me.

Come with me, Alice, my child, I will take him into the house." Alice picked up the Captain's sword and led the way.
It was all done so quickly that Farnsworth, in his half dazed condition, scarcely realized what was going on until he found himself on a couch in the Roussillon home, his wound (a jagged furrow plowed out by slugs that the sword's blade had first intercepted) neatly dressed and bandaged, while Alice and the priest hovered over him busy with their careful ministrations.
Hamilton and Helm were, as usual, playing cards at the former's quarters when a guard announced that Mademoiselle Roussillon wished an audience with the Governor.
"Bring the girl in," said Hamilton, throwing down his cards and scowling darkly.
"Now you'd better be wise as a serpent and gentle as a dove," remarked Helm.