"And now for your story, Mr. Francis," he said very cheerfully, "as Harry will not give us curdling details. Let me see: you went to the farm, and ran back again, and I saw you go to the sluice. You found it gone. Dear, dear, how terrible for you! So you came quietly back to the house and sat yourself down in front of the fire, where I found you ten minutes ago."
Mr. Francis looked up with a scared eye.
"I hoped and trusted no accident had happened to him," he said. "I came to the house to make sure that he was safe. Ah! I can not talk of it, I can not talk of it," he cried suddenly.
"But ten minutes ago you told me that you supposed that Harry was still out," persisted Geoffrey. "What a strange thing is the human mind! Here, for instance, I do not follow your thoughts at all. You were uneasy for Harry's safety, for fear of the sluice giving way, and as soon as you saw for certain that it had given way, you felt no further anxiety. You sat here in front of the fire, though, as you told me, you supposed Harry was out still."
Mr. Francis rose from his chair in great agitation.
"What do you mean? What are you saying?" he cried in a high, tremulous voice. "Do you know what your words mean?"
"My words mean exactly what they appear to mean," said Geoffrey quietly, feeling that the signal had been given and the time was come. "Hear me: how curious a thing, I said, is the human mind! The sluice you thought looked a little unsafe, and you were uneasy for Harry's safety as you went to the farm, for he was making at your suggestion an attempt to raise the wooden gate. You come back, and find symptoms of the confirmation of your fears: the sluice is broken. Harry is not there. Then you walk quietly back to the house, and tell me you suppose that Harry is out still. I repeat that I do not follow your train of thought. It is curious.—Harry, does not this seem to you also to be curious?"
Harry looked from one to the other a moment, puzzled and bewildered. Geoffrey spoke so quietly and collectedly that it was impossible not to listen calmly to what he said, impossible also not to understand what he meant. On the other hand, he was saying things that were absolutely incredible. From Geoffrey he looked to Mr. Francis, who was standing between them. The old man's mouth quivered, his agitation was momentarily increasing. Then suddenly he recollected the doctor's warning that all agitation was bad for him, and he was his uncle, his friend, and an old man.
"Stop, Geoffrey!" he cried; "don't speak.—Uncle Francis, don't listen to him: he doesn't mean what you think he means. There is some ghastly misunderstanding.—Geoff, you damned idiot!"
Mr. Francis's face grew paler and more mottled, his breathing was growing short and laboured, and Harry was in an agony of terror that another of those awful seizures would come upon him. But in a moment he spoke, slowly, and with little pauses for breath.