p 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