Witness to the Deed Part 84

"In his chamber, monsieur, exceedingly ill."

Stratton hurried in, to find Brettison in bed looking pinched of cheek, his eyes sunken and blue beneath the lids, and perfectly insensible.

"What does this mean?" cried Stratton.

"We did not hear the gentleman moving this morning, but my husband heard him stirring in the night, sir; oh, yes; and when I went to call him he answered so strangely that I entered and gave a cry, for he looked as if he was going to the death, monsieur.

"I wanted to send for you, but he forbade me. He said he would be better soon, and I made him tea, and gave him some cognac, and he grew better, then worse, then better again. It is something bad with his throat, monsieur. Look, it is--all worse, quite blue."

Stratton gazed at the livid marks in horror.

"Where is Mr Cousin, our invalid?" he said, beginning to tremble now.

"Oh, he, monsieur, he insisted upon going out on the sands with his attendant Margot."

"Which way?" gasped Stratton.

"Yonder, monsieur," said the woman, pointing to the south-east.

"Here, get cognac; bathe his face," panted Stratton, half wild now with horror; "and send someone for the nearest doctor. Quick. I shall be back soon--if I live," he muttered as he rushed off through the deep, loose sand to find and bring back their charge before he encountered the Jerrolds on the beach.

He could not see far for the rocks that strewed the sh.o.r.e, which was apparently deserted. The sun beat down upon his head, and the effort to advance grew more painful, and yet he pa.s.sed through maze after maze of stones fallen in huge ma.s.ses from the cliffs above, without seeing a sign, till all at once, as he pa.s.sed round one huge ma.s.s, beyond which lay scores of others covered with barnacle and weed, he heard voices, and stopped short, hidden from the group before him by one of the rocks.

His toil had been in vain, and a jealous, maddening pang shot through him.

There, some forty yards away, sat Barron upon a huge boulder, his back propped against a rock, and his attendant knitting a short distance back, while Miss Jerrold sat on the sands reading beneath a great sunshade. The admiral was smoking his cigar, looking down at Barron; Edie and Guest were together; and Myra, pale, gentle, and with a smile upon her lip, was offering the invalid a bunch of grapes, which he was gently taking from her hand.

"The past condoned," said Stratton to himself; "the future--well, he is her husband, after all. Great Heavens, am I really mad, or is all this a waking dream?"

He staggered back and nearly fell, so terrible was the rush of horror through his brain, but he could not draw away his eyes, and he saw that Barron was speaking and holding out his hand--that Myra responded by laying hers within his palm, and the fingers closed upon it--fingers that not many hours back must have held Brettison's throat in a deadly grip.

CHAPTER FIFTY THREE.

JULES IS FROM HOME.

"And that is the woman who told me she loved me!" said Stratton as he drew back behind the rocks and walked slowly away.

There was a strangely mingled feeling in his breast; one moment it was horror, the next disgust, that they two should join hands: she so young and beautiful, he prematurely aged and little better than an idiot.

Then it was misery--then despair, which swept over his soul to join forces and harrow him so that he felt that he could bear no more.

It was the thought of Brettison that saved him just as the blood was rus.h.i.+ng to his head and a stroke was imminent.

He had left his friend apparently dying, and had rushed off to save Myra.

"While I was wanted there," he muttered in a weak, piteous way. "Ah, it has all been a dream, and now I am awake. Poor Brettison, my best friend after all."

For a few moments the blood flushed to his temples in his resentment against Myra, and then against Guest; for, after all that he had said to him on the past night, how could he entirely accept the position he occupied and remain tacit and content there with that man in his company?

"Another slave to a woman's charms!" he said, with a bitter laugh.

"Poor old Percy! how can I blame him after what I have done myself for a weak, contemptible woman's sake?"

He stopped short, grinding his teeth together in resentment against himself; for Myra's sadly wasted face rose before him with her eyes full of reproach.

"It is not true," he cried; "it is not true. She could not help herself. They have driven her to it, or else--No, no, I cannot think."

He moved on toward the cottage, threading his way more by instinct than sight among the rocks, but only to stop short again, horrified by the thought that now a.s.sailed him. That man--Barron or Dale--it was not safe that he should be trusted with Myra. It was madness after what had taken place.

He thrust his fingers into his ears as if to shut out the voice that seemed to urge these things upon him; but the voice was within, and he hastened on more rapidly till he reached the cottage, where the fisherman's wife was bathing Brettison's forehead, and she gave him a frightened look as he entered.

His old friend's eyes were opened, and he looked wildly at Stratton as he entered, and feebly raised one hand.

"Dale!" he whispered as he clung to Stratton.

"Hus.h.!.+ don't talk."

"I--must," he said feebly. "Mind that he does not leave the place.

To-night you must get help and take him away."

"I am right, then--he did attack you?"

"Yes, not long after you had gone. I was asleep, when I was awakened with a start, thinking you had returned, but I was borne back directly.

He had me by the throat. Malcolm, lad, I thought it was all over. I struggled, but he was too strong. I remember thinking of your words, and then all was blank till I saw a light in the room, and found these people attending me. I had awakened them with my groans. They do not grasp the truth. Don't tell them. Let them think it is an affection of the throat, but we must never trust him again."

"There will be no need," said Stratton bitterly.

"What do you mean?"

"He has gone."

"You have let him escape? No; you have handed him over to the police.

Oh, my dear boy, you shouldn't have done that. The man is mad."

"I told you I should not do so," said Stratton coldly. "You are wrong."

"But you stand there. Good Heavens, man! Those two may meet. Don't mind me. I am better now. Go at once."

"No, I shall not leave you till you are fit to move."

"It is not an illness, but an injury, which will soon pa.s.s off. Go at once. Man, do you not see that he may find her, after all."

"He has found her," said Stratton slowly, and speaking in a strangely mechanical way.

"What!"

"Or they have found him." And he told the old man all he had seen.

Brettison heard him to the end, and then faintly, but with conviction in his tones, he cried: