"Well, then, for poor Myra's sake."
Stratton started as if he had been stung.
"I can't help hurting you, and I repeat--for her sake. She is a woman.
She loves you."
"For pity's sake, don't, don't," groaned Stratton in a voice full of
unutterable anguish.
"She loves you, I say," continued Guest firmly; "and, whatever has been
the cause of this madness, she will forgive you."
Stratton shook his head slowly.
"But I say she will. Come, we are none of us perfect. I tell you I am
fighting for you now as well as myself. Your act this morning injures
Edie and me too. So take it like this, old fellow. You have done wrong
in some way; is not an attempt to make amends the first step toward
showing repentance?"
"You don't know--you don't know," groaned the wretched man.
"Not yet; you will not be open. Come now, be frank with me. In your
utter despair, consequent upon your nerves being weak with mental worry,
you used that pistol."
Stratton buried his face in his hands.
"The old man was right," continued Guest; "it was a cowardly way to get
out of the difficulty. Let me help you. Come, once more, make a clean
breast of it."
Stratton's hands fell again, and there was an eager look in his face;
his lips parted and he was about to speak, but the look faded away and
in a despondent, weary way he sank back once more.
"Very well. I will not press you now," said Guest. "You'll think
better of it, old fellow. I'll wait. Now, then, let me help you into
your room."
"What for?" cried Stratton suspiciously.
"Because a wounded man must be better lying down."
"So that you can lock me in and go for people--for doctors?"
"He is queer," thought Guest. "The cunning of a man off his head."
As he thought this he rose, walked to the bedroom door, opened it, and
took the key out to hand to his friend.
"There, are you satisfied? Look here, Mal, even to better you I will
not play any treacherous trick like that?"
"I believe you," said Stratton quietly; and he waved away the hand
holding the key.
"So far, so good, then. Will you come and lie down while I fetch a
doctor?"
"No. I will not have a doctor. It is a mere scratch."
"Very well. Come and sit down, then."
Stratton shook his head.
"Invalids must be humoured, I suppose. Sit where you are then, and try
and have a nap. You'll be calmer afterward--I hope," he added to
himself.
Guest changed the position of his chair, took up a book, and crossed to
a lounge, but as he was in the act of turning it he saw that Stratton
was watching him keenly.
"Don't do that. I want you to leave me now."
"I know you do," said Guest quietly; "but I am not going."
Stratton drew a heavy, catching breath, and lay back in his chair, while
Guest opened the book he had taken at random, and read from it half a
dozen romances which he made up as he went on. For he could not see a
word of the printed matter, and in each of these romances his friend was
the hero, who was being hunted to desperation by some woman with whom he
had become entangled.
From time to time he glanced across at his friend as the hours glided
by, hoping to see that he slept; but he always caught a glimpse of a
pair of eager eyes watching him.
At last, about six o'clock, faint, weary, and oppressed by the terrible
silence in the room, Guest laid down the book.
"Going?" said Stratton eagerly.
"No. Only to send for Mrs Brade."
"What for?"
"To get her to run to the Peacock, and tell them to bring some dinner
and a bottle of Bass. You can eat something?"
"Bring dinner--here?" gasped Stratton.
"Yes. I have had nothing since early breakfast."
"You cannot have it here," said Stratton, making an effort, and speaking
firmly. "I am better and calmer now. After a night's rest I shall be
myself again."
"I hope so," said Guest quietly.
"So go now, there's a good fellow. I'll explain everything to you some
day, and I shall be far better alone."
"Yes; you are fit to trust!"
"You need not sneer. You think I shall make some insane attempt upon my
life."
Guest looked at him fixedly.
"Yes; you have good reason for doubting me, but I swear to you that you
may trust me."
At that moment steps were heard upon the stairs, almost inaudible; but
whoever it was whistled some melody, and before Stratton could stay him,
Guest threw open the door, and called to the whistler to come back.
"Want me, sir?" said a telegraph boy, appearing in the opening.
"Yes," said Guest, giving the boy sixpence; "ask the woman at the lodge
to come up here directly."
"All right, sir."
Guest returned to his seat, and saw that Stratton's face was averted and
his eyes closed.
"Finds he must give way," said the young barrister to himself; and once
more there was silence, till Mrs Brade's knock was heard.
Guest admitted her, and cut short a string of wondering exclamations by
giving her his orders.
"Oh, certainly, sir," she cried; "but I thought--"
"Yes, of course you did, my dear madam, but unfortunately Mr Stratton
was suddenly taken ill."
"Oh, poor dear!" cried Mrs Brade, in deep concern. "Let me go and ask
my doctor to--"
"No," cried Stratton so fiercely that the woman started and turned pale.
"Go and do as I said," whispered Guest; and after a while the
refreshments were brought, partaken of, and, in spite of his friend's
protests, Guest insisted upon passing the night in an easy-chair,
dropping off to sleep occasionally, to dream that Stratton was
threatening to destroy his life, and waking to find him in his
easy-chair thrust back to the side of the fireplace between him and the
panelled door.