Stratton rose slowly, and he was evidently confused and not quite able
to grasp all that had been going on, till a pang from his injured
shoulder spurred his brain.
His right-hand went up to the bandage, and he began hastily to arrange
his dress.
He was evidently sick and faint, but to restore his garments was for the
moment the dominant idea.
Then another thought came, and he looked wildly round, hardly appearing
to grasp the fact that friend and visitors had drawn back from him,
while the former slowly uncocked the revolver and carefully extracted
the cartridges, noting that four were filled, and two empty.
Guest knew the billet of one of the bullets, and he involuntarily looked
round for the other.
He had not far to seek. The shade covering the wired and mounted bones
of an ancient extinct bird standing on a cabinet was shattered, and the
bullet had cut through the neck vertebrae, and then buried itself in the
oaken panelling.
Guest lowered his eyes to his task again, and slowly placed the
cartridges in one pocket, the pistol in the other, when, raising his
eyes, he met the admiral's shadowed by the heavy brows; and the old
officer gave him a nod of approval.
"Well, Rebecca," he said, in a deep voice which seemed to hold the dying
mutterings of the storm which had raged in his breast but a short time
before; "we may go. I can't jump on a fallen man."
"Yes," said Miss Jerrold, with a look of sadness and sympathy at
Stratton, who stood supporting himself against the table; "we had better
go. O Malcolm Stratton," she cried passionately, "and I did so believe
in you."
He raised his face, with a momentary flush of pleasure bringing back
something of its former aspect. But the gloom of despair came down like
a cloud over a gleam of sunshine, and his chin fell upon his chest,
though a movement now and then told that he was listening bitterly to
every word.
"Yes," said Sir Mark; "it's as well you did not get in the police. Keep
it all quiet for everyone's sake. The doctor must know, though."
Stratton's face was a little raised at this, and he turned slightly as
Guest said:
"Of course. It is not a dangerous wound, but look at him."
Stratton's chin fell again upon his breast.
"In a few hours," continued the admiral, "fever will probably set in."
A low, catching breath shook Stratton, and one hand grasped the table
edge violently.
"And he will be delirious."
Stratton strove hard to contain himself, but he started violently, and
raising his face he passed his right-hand across his dripping brow.
"I cannot stop here, Guest," said Sir Mark. "Come, Rebecca, my dear.
You must not leave him alone. Shall I send in a medical man?"
"No!" cried Stratton hoarsely, in so fierce a voice that all started,
and the admiral shrugged his shoulders, and drawing himself up crossed
to the door, his sister following him with her face full of perplexity
and commiseration.
But she turned as she reached the door, hesitated for a moment, and the
rigid hardness in her face, with its anger against the man who had done
her niece so cruel a wrong, died away to give place to a gentle, womanly
look of sorrow and reproach as she hurried back to where Stratton stood
with his back to the table, grasping its edge, while the objects thereon
trembled and tottered from the motion communicated by the man's
quivering muscles.
"Heaven forgive you, Malcolm Stratton!" she said slowly. "I cannot now.
I am going back to her. Man, you have broken the heart of as true and
sweet a woman as ever lived."
Stratton did not stir, but stood there bent, and as if crushed,
listening to the rustle of his visitor's rich silk, as she hurried back
to her brother; then the door was opened, closed upon them, and a dead
silence reigned in Stratton's study, as he and Guest stood listening to
the faint sound of the descending steps till they had completely died
away.
Then Guest turned to his friend:
"Now," he said coldly, "give me your arm. No; stop. Where are your
keys?"
Stratton raised his head sharply.
"Where are your keys?"
"What for?"
"I want to get the spirits to give you a dram."
"No, no," said Stratton firmly. "Now go!"
"Of course," said Guest bitterly. "That's my way when you're in
trouble. You miserable fool! You madman!" he roared, flashing out
suddenly with passion. "What is it? Two years ago, when I came here
and found you with that cyanide bottle on the table, and the glass ready
with its draught, I stopped you then, you coward. This time you were
alone to attempt your wretched work."
Stratton glared at him wildly.
"And here have we all been scared to death, fearing that you had been
attacked. The admiral said you were a miserable coward, and you are.
Where is your manhood? Where is your honour, to carry on like this with
poor Myra till the last moment, and then do this? Hang it, man, why
didn't you aim straight and end it, instead of bringing us to such a
pitiful scene as this?"
Stratton drew his breath hard.
"There, I've done. It's jumping, as he said, on a fallen man. But I
was obliged to speak. Now, then, those keys."
"Go!" cried Stratton sternly. "Go. Leave me!"
"To play some other mad prank? Not I. I want those keys to get out the
brandy."
"I tell you no--no."
"Very well. It was to save you from fainting. Faint then, and be
hanged. Give me your arm."
"Will you go?" cried Stratton fiercely.
"Yes, when you are on your bed, and then only to the door to call
someone--"
"What?"
"To fetch the nearest doctor. Come along."
"Percy Guest--" began Stratton fiercely.
"It's of no use," said Guest. "Only waste of words. Come along."
Stratton made a quick movement to avoid him, and staggered into a chair;
when his eyes closed, and he lay back fainting.
"Poor wretch!" muttered Guest, snatching the basin and sponge to begin
bathing the already damp face. "I oughtn't to have bullied him."
In a few moments Stratton opened his eyes again, and his first look was
directed round the room.
"It's all right, old chap," said Guest. "Temper's gone. Come, be
sensible. I won't say disagreeable things to you. Give up the keys.
You'd be better for a drop of brandy."
"No," said Stratton hastily. "Go and leave me now."
"Impossible. You must have the doctor."
"I cannot; I will not."
"But you must."
"Do you hear what I say?" cried Stratton fiercely.
"Yes. There is no occasion to fly out at me for wanting to be of
service."
"I want no help. I must be alone."
"To go wandering off into a fit of delirium. There, I'll call old
mother Brade to fetch a surgeon."
"You will not do so. I forbid it."
"Exactly, but you are a patient now. There, don't be idiotic. I can
read you like a book."
Stratton looked up at him sharply.
"You don't want the doctor to see your wound and know how it came--
there, don't stare in that wild way--leave it to me. It was an
accident. You were fooling about with a revolver. Cleaning it, say;
and it went off. That's all the doctor need know."
"No one must know even that."
"But your wound must be properly dressed."
"I will not have it touched," cried Stratton decisively. "Now, once
more. I am not much hurt. Go."
Guest laughed bitterly.
"No, my boy, you don't get rid of me. I'll stick to you like your
conscience."
Stratton's eyes dilated.
"And I'm going to be master here till you are well bodily and mentally."
"I tell you I am not much hurt. Mentally! Pooh, I'm as well as you
are."
"Better, of course. Why, what nonsense you are talking!" cried Guest,
pointing to the other's wounded shoulder. "Come, don't let us argue
more. Give in sensibly, there's a good fellow, and let me do my best
for you. I know you see things in a wrong light now, but you'll thank
me some day."
They watched each other furtively, and Guest could see how hard his
friend was evidently planning to get rid of him, while, on his own part,
he was calculating his chances. He knew that mad people were
superhumanly strong, but then in spite of his conduct he could not in
his own mind grant that Stratton was mad. It was a case of what
coroners call "temporary insanity," due to some trouble which had been
kept hidden; and if there should be a struggle, Guest felt that he would
be more than a match for his friend, injured as he was.
Stratton was the first to speak, in a low voice, which suggested his
being faint and in great pain.
"Now I'm better. Will you go and leave me?"
Guest took a chair, and placing its back opposite to his friend, strode
across it, and rested his arms on the rail.
"Look here, Stratton, old fellow; I've always trusted you, and you've
always trusted me."
"Yes, of course," said Stratton hurriedly.
"Well, then, as your old chum--the man who has stuck to you and is going
to stick to you all through this hobble into which you have got
yourself--don't you think it would be as well to make a clean breast of
it--to me?"
Stratton's eyes dilated as he spoke, and his look was so strange that
Guest involuntarily prepared himself for some outbreak.
"You can trust me," continued Guest, and he saw a look of despair come
into his friend's countenance. "Come, old chap, what's the use of a
friend if he is not to help you? You know I want to."