ant
rest and quiet. You look wretchedly ill."

"Oh, it is nothing!" said I, trying to smile. "It was only a momentary
weakness. I am all right again now."

"I am so sorry to keep you waiting. Poor boy, you must have been here
quite half an hour! The vicar was in the drawing-room, and, as I knew
that you did not care for him, I thought it better that Jane should
show you up here. I thought the man would never go!"

"Thank God he stayed! Thank God he stayed!" I cried hysterically.

"Why, what is the matter with you, Austin?" she asked, holding my arm
as I staggered up from the chair. "Why are you glad that the vicar
stayed? And what is this little bottle in your hand?"

"Nothing," I cried, thrusting it into my pocket. "But I must go. I
have something important to do."

"How stern you look, Austin! I have never seen your face like that.
You are angry?"

"Yes, I am angry."

"But not with me?"

"No, no, my darling! You would not understand."

"But you have not told me why you came."

"I came to ask you whether you would always love me--no matter what I
did, or what shadow might fall on my name. Would you believe in me and
trust me however black appearances might be against me?"

"You know that I would, Austin."

"Yes, I know that you would. What I do I shall do for you. I am
driven to it. There is no other way out, my darling!" I kissed her
and rushed from the room.

The time for indecision was at an end. As long as the creature
threatened my own prospects and my honor there might be a question as
to what I should do. But now, when Agatha--my innocent Agatha--was
endangered, my duty lay before me like a turnpike road. I had no
weapon, but I never paused for that. What weapon should I need, when I
felt every muscle quivering with the strength of a frenzied man? I ran
through the streets, so set upon what I had to do that I was only dimly
conscious of the faces of friends whom I met--dimly conscious also
that Professor Wilson met me, running with equal precipitance in the
opposite direction. Breathless but resolute I reached the house and
rang the bell. A white cheeked maid opened the door, and turned whiter
yet when she saw the face that looked in at her.

"Show me up at once to Miss Penclosa," I demanded.

"Sir," she gasped, "Miss Penclosa died this afternoon at half-past
three!"

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Parasite, by Arthur Conan Doyle

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