Witness to the Deed Part 52

"I asked him to explain."

"And--and--what--what?" panted the old man furiously.

"No; he did not explain, dear," said Myra, drawing her father's arm about her neck, and raising herself a little from the couch so as to nestle on his breast. "It is fate, dear. I am never to leave you now.

Keep me, dear, and protect me. It is not his fault. Something terrible has happened to him--something he could not own to, even to me--who was to have been his wife."

"Edie--Guest--help!" panted the admiral. "Myra, my darling! She's dying!"

"No, no, dear," she said, with a low moan, as she clung to him more tightly, "a little faint--that's all. Ah! hold me to you, dear," she sighed almost in a whisper. "Safe--with you."

And then to herself:

"He said his punishment was greater than he could bear. Malcolm, my own--my own!"

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE.

A HORRIBLE SUGGESTION.

Only a few frowns from the admiral and a severe shake of the head over their wine a day or two later, as, in obedience to a summons more than an invitation, Guest dined with him and his sister, Edie having her dinner with her cousin in Myra's room.

"I felt as if I ought to say a deal to you, young man," growled the admiral; "but poor Myra has given me my orders, and I must be mum. Take some more wine."

Guest took some more claret with pleasure, and thought that the subject was to be changed, but it was not, for Sir Mark suddenly turned to him:

"I say: look here, my lad," he said. "This Stratton: is he mad?"

"No," said Guest sharply: "certainly not."

"Then what the deuce is the matter with him?"

"That's what I'm going to find out, Sir Mark."

But the days went by, and Guest appeared to get no farther, save only that Stratton, in a despairing way, ceased to resent his friend's determination to be with him. He even went so far, one evening in his room in Sarum Street, as to show some return of his old confidence, for he tossed a letter across the table.

"Read that," he said.

Guest took it, and saw that it was from the governors of the great inst.i.tution, suggesting that Stratton should resign his post for a twelvemonth, and go away on half salary to recoup his health.

"Humph! Can't say I'm surprised," said Guest. "Have you written?"

"Yes, and resigned entirely."

"Where's the letter?" said Guest eagerly. "Gone?"

"No; it is here."

"Let's look."

Stratton handed him the letter, and Guest tore it up.

"Write that you accept their considerate proposal."

"I cannot."

"But you shall."

"If I wrote so, I should feel bound to leave town."

"Very good. I'll go with you--to the South Pole if you like."

"I shall never leave London," said Stratton gravely.

"Then stop here and get well. Write."

The weaker will obeyed the stronger, and, with a sigh of satisfaction, Guest pocketed the letter to post.

"By the way," he said, "I came through the inn to-night on the chance of finding you there."

Stratton's face grew stony.

"And old Mother Brade got hold of me to practice her tongue upon."

Stratton was silent, and sat gazing straight before him.

"Hadn't you better let the old woman have a general clean up?"

"I pay the rent of those chambers," said Stratton almost fiercely, "to do with them as I please. No!"

"All right; tell her to go to Jericho, then. But look here, she was asking me about Mr Brettison."

Stratton's countenance changed a little, either from excitement or interest in his friend's words.

"Isn't it strange that he doesn't come back?"

"I don't know. No. He is peculiar in his ways. Sometimes I have not seen him for months together."

"Oh," said Guest quietly; and soon after he left.

It was about a week later that, on going to the inn one evening, Guest was caught again by the porter's wife.

"Which I won't keep you a minute, sir, but would you mind answering me one question?"

"If I can," said Guest, knocking the ashes from his cigar.

"Then is Mr Stratton coming back soon to the inn, sir?"