I looked up, saw Charles’s faithful face, and stretched out my hand without speaking. Never had I needed a friend more, and never had I been more constrained in my greeting. I feared to show my real heart, my real fears, my real reason for not hailing my release, as every one evidently expected me to!
With a gesture to the nurse, the doctor tiptoed out, muttering to Clifton, as he passed, some word of warning or casual instruction. The nurse followed, and Clifton, coming forward, took a seat at my side. He was cheerful but not too cheerful; and the air of slight constraint which tinged his manner, as much as it did mine, did not escape me.
“Well, old fellow,” he began—
My hand went up in entreaty.
“Tell me why they have withdrawn their suspicions. I’ve heard nothing—read nothing—for days. I don’t understand this move.”
For reply, he laid his hand on mine.
“You’re stanch,” he began. “You have my regard, Elwood. Not many men would have stood the racket and sacrificed themselves as you have done. The fact is recognised, now, and your motive—”
I must have turned very white; for he stopped and sprang to his feet, searching for some restorative.
I felt the need of blinding him to my condition. With an effort, which shook me from head to foot, I lifted myself from the depths into which his words had plunged me, and fighting for self-control, faltered forth, feebly enough:
“Don’t be frightened. I’m all right again; I guess I’m not very strong yet. Sit down; I don’t need anything.”