when weldon woke he did one of the three things of which only gentlemen of the finest sensitiveness are capable. he gave me one quick, laughing glance, but perceiving in my solemn visage a predisposition to resent badinage, he immediately said, "good-morning, old chap. hope you rested well. as usual, i slept like a log—all night." now, who could help liking a man of that stamp? not i, most certainly. and not satisfied with pretending to have forgotten everything, he resolutely refrained from so much as glancing at his treasured sword, which i had broken. my heart went out to him in such a flood of feeling that in order to conceal how fond of him i was and how grateful, i simply had to be insulting.

"you needn't tell me you slept," i growled. "you snored like a whole sty-full of hogs" (which was a lie). "it's a wonder to me you did not wake yourself."

"why didn't you shy a boot at my head?" he asked. "i'm awfully sorry, pinsent. i can see i kept you awake. you look quite washed out."

"oh! i'm alright, or will be after a hot bath," i replied ungraciously, and left the room.

[pg 185]

when i returned he had a bottle of champagne ready for me, as a pick-me-up; and he was hard at work polishing my boots—all this by way of apology. i swallowed some wine and allowed myself to unbend. i suggested a ride to work up an appetite for breakfast. he joyously agreed, so we dressed and went out. a gallop in the park made us as jolly as a pair of sand boys. we had déjeuner at verrey's, and then went to call on miss ottley. she was out, however, so i dragged my charge to an eye specialist in harley street. i pretended an eyeache and had my eyes thoroughly examined. the specialist could find nothing wrong with them. on the contrary, he congratulated me on a singularly perfect vision. after that we went to weldon's club, dawdled there for a hour and then on the suggestion of lord william hurlingham, commonly known as "bill," we ran down to maidenhead for a row on the river. it was a perfect day and we enjoyed ourselves amazingly, so much so that we lost count of time and were obliged to dine at a maidenhead hotel. it thus came about that it was after nine when we strolled to the station to return to town. there was a considerable crowd of holiday-makers on the platform, and one party gave us much amusement. these details are important to explain what followed. the party consisted of half a dozen jews and as many jewesses. they were all as gorgeously attired as if they had been attending a regal audience. but[pg 186] their conversation, conducted in tones loud enough to provoke general attention, informed us that they had been spending the day on the houseboat of a certain well-known nobleman of notorious impecuniousness.

lord bill, a bit of a wag, made a remark that i did not catch, about the jews and their nobleman, which sent weldon into a convulsion of laughter. he then turned to me and began to repeat it for my benefit. just at that moment the train came rushing into the station. weldon stood near the edge of the platform with his back to the line, glancing sideways at the jews and trying to restrain his mirth. i had bent my head the better to hear lord bill, who was a short man, but my eyes were on weldon. conceive my surprise to observe him stagger backwards of a sudden, as though he had been struck on the forehead. he uttered a startled cry and clawed the air with both hands. for a brief second he tottered at an angle as though he held on to something which supported him. but next instant, as if carried off his feet by a great rush of wind, he went back, back—over the edge of the platform, and before i could move a muscle or utter a word he had fallen and was lying on the rails under the very wheels of the onrushing engine. men shouted, women shrieked. i sprang forward, and hardly aware of the peril would have leaped upon the line, but that a dozen hands restrained me. it would have meant infallibly my death as well as[pg 187] weldon's, for the train was not more than a dozen feet off. but i was incapable of reasoning at the moment. i struggled like a madman with my captors and broke away from them at last—to stand dazedly staring at the engine for some horrid seconds. it had stopped. but had it——? with a great effort i dragged myself forward. the edge of the platform was lined with a crowd of white-faced, silent people. they made room for me. several railway officials were stooping over a frightful object lying between the pavement and the nearest iron rail. one of them shouted for a doctor, and there was an immediate movement in the crowd. two or three men set off through the station at a run. i closed my eyes. i had never been so shaken in my life. i had never lost my self-control so utterly. the wheels of the engine had completely amputated both poor weldon's legs midway between the knee and trunk. there followed a hiatus in my reckoning. when i came properly to my senses i was hard at work tying up the arteries, assisted by a medical student who had been a passenger in the fatal train, and a nurse who had apparently been holiday-making on the river. i remember how anxious she was to save her pretty muslin gown from the spouting blood. presently a surgeon who had been called, appeared armed with proper instruments. with his aid i hastily replaced the imperfect tourniquets i had improvised out of kerchiefs and neckcloths with gutta percha[pg 188] bandages, and we removed poor weldon from the station to the villa of a gentleman who had charitably placed his house at our disposal. from the very first i felt that there was no hope. not only had my luckless friend lost his limbs and an immense quantity of blood, but he had suffered internal injuries and a severe occipital concussion. within an hour, in spite of all we could do, symptoms of lung congestion supervened. when it became manifest that no human skill could save, i wrote a note to miss ottley and sent lord bill to london to escort her to her lover's bedside.

after that there was nothing to do but wait. weldon was deep in a state of coma. i sat down beside him and watched his poor, wan face. every few minutes i administered a stimulant, yet each time asked myself what use? and were it not better to let him cross the bar in painless sleep than try to bring him back for a few moments to the agony of suffering and hopeless separation? yet i was plagued with the most hateful doubts and ideas, and so, beyond expression miserable that when two hours had gone and i marked his pulse failing visibly with the fleeting minutes, i did that at length which, perhaps, i should have postponed till miss ottley's arrival. but then, it might have been too late. who knows? he opened his eyes and looked at me. i could hardly see for sudden womanish tears.

"give me your hand!" he whispered. i did so,[pg 189] and he pressed within it a hard, bulbous object. "put in—in your pocket. keep it safe!" he gasped. "it will—ah."

i obeyed him without glancing at what he had given me. then i got up and rang the bell. a great change had come over him. the surgeon responded to my call.

"it is the end!" he said.

weldon broke into a fit of coughing and beat the bedclothes with his hands. we bent over him, seeking to help and soothe him. the paroxysm passed and for a moment he seemed to sleep. soon, however, he gave a strong shudder and opened his eyes again. "pinsent—you will avenge me—you have the clue," he said. it was but a breath, but i heard. yet i cannot say i comprehended. indeed, i thought he wandered. but i answered softly: "trust me, lad!" and at that he smiled and lay still, gazing up at me with eyes of deep affection.

"i have sent for her," i whispered.

"yes," he sighed. "i know; but she will be too late. tell her—not to fret!" and at the last word the light faded from his eyes and he was dead.

long afterwards miss ottley came into the room. she was pale, but invincibly composed. i gave her his message and left her alone with the dead. the owner of the house, lord bill and the surgeon led me out into the garden. they spoke to me in decorous hushed voices for a while, then let[pg 190] me be. i walked up and down the pathway till break of day, and what i thought about i cannot tell. i remember being closely questioned by a policeman. then miss ottley took my arm and we walked to the station. i thought it my place to be kind to her, yet she was kind to me.

"one might think you cared," she said, and smiled into my face. we got into a train and as soon as it started lord bill broke out crying. he declared that weldon was the best fellow in the world and that he would miss him dreadfully. then he said in the midst of life we are in death, and laughed, and without asking permission, he began to smoke a cigarette. it is strange how differently people are affected by emotion. i was mentally dazed, and i fancy part of my brain was benumbed. miss ottley was poignantly awake, but her pride, and her strength of mind served her for a mask. lord bill, on the other hand, acted as responsively to his feelings as an infant. and yet each of us behaved naturally. i reflected on these things all the way to town. lord bill bade us farewell at the station. miss ottley and i drove to her home in a hansom. during the drive she spoke about the funeral quite calmly and mentioned poor weldon's love for big, red roses. his coffin should be smothered in roses, she declared.

when i helped her to the pavement, she pointed up at a window that was open. "dr. belleville's room," she said, and smiled. "he is enjoying[pg 191] his triumph. he kept his word to the letter. it is the seventh day. the seventh day, hugh pinsent; that is a terrible man. how shall i possibly withstand him?"

i shook my head. "you are wrong," i answered dully. "he is not responsible for this. it was an accident."

"are you sure?" she asked.

"i am sure of nothing," i replied. "but it seems to me an accident—and yet. but there. i am incapable of reasoning in my present mood. i shall see you again. in the meanwhile—think of weldon's last words to you and do not grieve too much!"

"and you?"

i shrugged my shoulders. "i have never felt more miserable. and already i am beginning to fancy i might have saved him."

"how?"

"by going yesterday to your father and dr. belleville and forcing them at the muzzle of a revolver to tell me things they know and which i want to know."

"you rave," she muttered coldly, and slowly climbed the steps.

i followed her and rang the bell.

"if you persist in thinking my father a bad man, i never want to speak to you again," she whispered.

there were steps in the passage. i took off[pg 192] my hat to her. "i must mend my thoughts," i said.

the door opened and dr. belleville appeared upon the threshold.

the girl gave him a quick look before which he quailed. but he recovered quickly. "i sincerely trust you bring good news," he said, in tones of deep concern.

"the best," answered miss ottley, and drawing in her gown she swept past him with a glance of bitter hate, into the house.

belleville looked after her, then turned to me, plucking at his jetty beard and frowning heavily.

"weldon is better?" he inquired.

"he is dead," i said.

"poor, poor fellow," sighed dr. belleville. "i am greatly pained to hear it. you were his friend, were you not, pinsent? i can see that you are upset. won't you come in and have a glass of brandy? you look quite done up."

"no, thank you," i answered. "i must get home and change these bloodstained clothes—there is to be an inquest this afternoon. good-morning."

"good-morning!" he replied. he was staring at the bloodstains to which i had purposely directed his attention. but he did not give a sign of agitation. his face remained as expressionless as wood.