Suddenly he held out his hand to me, and said gently:
“There is something wrong with you. If you will tell me what it is, then
perhaps...”
I was overwhelmed now with shame and despair; his calm words made me
lose my balance. I wished to show him some kindness in return, and I
put my arm round him, and said:
“Forgive me this! No, what could be wrong with me? There is nothing
wrong; I have no need of your help. You are looking for Edwarda,
perhaps? You will find her at home. But make haste, or she will have
gone to bed before you come; she was very tired, I could see it myself.
I tell you the best news I can, now; it is true. You will find her at
home--go, then!” And I turned and hurried away from him, striking out
with a long stride up through the woods and back to the hut.
For a while I sat there on the bed just as I had come in, with my bag
over my shoulder and my gun in my hand. Strange thoughts passed through
my mind. Why ever had I given myself away so to that Doctor? The thought
that I had put my arm round him and looked at him with wet eyes angered
me; he would chuckle over it, I thought; perhaps at that very moment he
might be sitting laughing over it, with Edwarda. He had set his stick
aside in the hall. Yes, even if I were lame, I could not compare with
the Doctor. I could never compare with him--those were her words...
I stepped out into the middle of the floor, cocked my gun, set the
muzzle against my left instep, and pulled the trigger. The shot passed
through the middle of the foot and pierced the floor. Æsop gave a short
terrified bark.
A little after there came a knock at the door.
It was the Doctor.
“Sorry to disturb you,” he began. “You went off so suddenly, I thought
it might do no harm if we had a little talk together. Smell of powder,
isn't there...?”
He was perfectly sober. “Did you see Edwarda? Did you get your stick?”
I asked.
“I found my stick. But Edwarda had gone to bed... What's that? Heavens,
man, you're bleeding!”
“No, nothing to speak of. I was just putting the gun away, and it went
off; it's nothing. Devil take you, am I obliged to sit here and give you
all sorts of information about that...? You found your stick?”
But he did not heed my words; he was staring at my torn boot and the
trickle of blood. With a quick movement he laid down his stick and took
off his gloves.
“Sit still--I must get that boot off. I _thought_ it was a shot I
heard.”