“Thank you,” she said, offering her hand. “It was a pleasant evening.”
She would have seen me to the door, but I tried to prevent her.
“No need,” I said; “do not trouble, I can find my way...”
But she went with me all the same. She stood in the passage waiting
patiently while I found my cap, my gun, and my bag. There was a
walking-stick in the corner; I saw it well enough; I stared at it, and
recognized it--it was the Doctor's. When she marked what I was looking
at, she blushed in confusion; it was plain to see from her face that she
was innocent, that she knew nothing of the stick. A whole minute passed.
At last she turned, furiously impatient, and said tremblingly:
“Your stick--do not forget your stick.”
And there before my eyes she handed me the Doctor's stick.
I looked at her. She was still holding out the stick; her hand trembled.
To make an end of it, I took the thing, and set it back in the corner.
I said:
“It is the Doctor's stick. I cannot understand how a lame man could
forget his stick.” “You and your lame man!” she cried bitterly, and took
a step forward towards me. “You are not lame--no; but even if you were,
you could not compare with him; no, you could never compare with him.
There!”
I sought for some answer, but my mind was suddenly empty; I was silent.
With a deep bow, I stepped backwards out of the door, and down on to the
steps. There I stood a moment looking straight before me; then I moved
off.
“So, he has forgotten his stick,” I thought to myself. “And he will come
back this way to fetch it. He would not let _me_ be the last man to
leave the house...” I walked up the road very slowly, keeping a
lookout either way, and stopped at the edge of the wood. At last, after
half an hour's waiting, the Doctor came walking towards me; he had seen
me, and was walking quickly. Before he had time to speak I lifted my
cap, to try him. He raised his hat in return. I went straight up to him
and said:
“I gave you no greeting.”
He came a step nearer and stared at me.
“You gave me no greeting...?”
“No,” said I.
Pause.
“Why, it is all the same to me what you did,” he said, turning pale. “I
was going to fetch my stick; I left it behind.” I could say nothing in
answer to this, but I took my revenge another way; I stretched out my
gun before him, as if he were a dog, and said:
“Over!”
And I whistled, as if coaxing him to jump over.
For a moment he struggled with himself; his face took on the strangest
play of expression as he pressed his lips together and held his eyes
fixed on the ground. Suddenly he looked at me sharply; a half smile lit
up his features, and he said:
“What do you really mean by all this?”