“Ah!”
Mr. Sabin moved uneasily in his seat. He drew his club-foot a little further back; Felix seemed to be looking at it absently.
“She showed me,” he continued, “a little pistol; she explained to me that a woman’s aim is a most uncertain thing. Besides, you were some distance away, and your spring aside helped you. Then, too, so far as I could see from the mechanism of the thing—it was an old and clumsy affair—it carried low. At any rate the shot, which was doubtless meant for your heart, found a haven in your foot. From her lips I learned for the first time that she, the sweetest and most timid of her sex, had dared to become her own avenger. Life is a sad enough thing, and pleasure is rare, yet I tasted pleasure of the keenest and subtlest kind when she told me that story. I feel even now some slight return of it when I look at your—shall we call deformity, and consider how different a person——”
Mr. Sabin half rose to his feet; his face was white and set, save where a single spot of colour was flaring high up near his cheek-bone. His eyes were bloodshot; for a moment he seemed about to strike the other man. Felix broke off in his sentence, and watched him warily.
“Come,” he said, “it is not like you to lose control of yourself in that manner. It is a simple matter. You wronged a woman, and she avenged herself magnificently. As for me, I can see that my interference was quite uncalled for; I even venture to offer you my apologies for the fright I must have given you at the ‘Milan.’ The account had already been straightened by abler hands. I can assure you that I am no longer your enemy. In fact, when I look at you”—his eyes seemed to fall almost to the ground—“when I look at you, I permit myself some slight sensation of pity for your unfortunate affliction. But it was magnificent! Shall we change the subject now?”
Mr. Sabin sat quite still in his corner; his eyes seemed fixed upon a distant hill, bordering the flat country through which they were passing. Felix’s stinging words and mocking smile had no meaning for him. In fact he did not see his companion any longer, nor was he conscious of his presence. The narrow confines of the railway carriage had fallen away. He was in a lofty room, in a chamber of a palace, a privileged guest, the lover of the woman whose dark, passionate eyes and soft, white arms were gleaming there before his eyes. It was but one of many such scenes. He shuddered very slightly, as he went back further still. He had been faithful to one god, and one god only—the god of self! Was it a sign of coming trouble, that for the first time for many years he had abandoned himself to the impotent morbidness of abstract thought? He shook himself free from it with an effort; what lunacy! To-day he was on the eve of a mighty success—his feet were planted firmly upon the threshold! The end of all his ambitions stood fairly in view, and the path to it was wide and easy. Only a little time, and his must be one of the first names in Europe! The thought thrilled him, the little flood of impersonal recollections ebbed away; he was himself again, keen, alert, vigorous! Suddenly he met the eyes of his companion fixed steadfastly upon him, and his face darkened. There was something ominous about this man’s appearance; his very presence seemed like a foreboding of disaster.
“I am much obliged to you for your little romance,” he said. “There is one point, however, which needs some explanation. If your interest is really, as you suggest, at an end, what are you doing down here? I presume that your appearance is not altogether a coincidence.”
“Certainly not,” Felix answered. “Let me correct you, however, on one trifling point. I said, you must remember—my personal interest.”
“I do not,” Mr. Sabin remarked, “exactly see the distinction; in fact, I do not follow you at all!”
“I am so stupid,” Felix declared apologetically. “I ought to have explained myself more clearly. It is even possible that you, who know everything, may yet be ignorant of my present position.”