Dan Sweetland’s pipe went out, and he rose, knocked the ashes from it, and retired to his room. It was in the servants’ quarters, and he always took good care to lock the door. None of the domestics had ever seen the inside of the chamber since Dan became occupant. Had they done so, it must have much surprised them to find a little photograph of Minnie Sweetland upon the mantelpiece.
To this secluded den “Obi” now departed, and his thoughts were a strange mixture of grave and gay. He was to see his wife in the morning, for that day had gone the letter from Henry Vivian. But Minnie could not yet have read the great news, since it seemed that within the hour she had engaged herself to Titus Sim. The fact struck with petrifying force upon Daniel’s mind. It woke a wide uneasiness and a great sorrow for the awful disappointment that must await his friend. Minnie’s own attitude puzzled him deeply. Could it be true that she had accepted Sim? Could it be possible that his return to life would not please her? This thought came and went like a flash of lightning. It left in his mind shame and wonder that it could have come. Even at that moment he felt joy. She knew now; the letter must have reached her from Warren Inn after Sim had gone. She would be waiting for him in the dawn light; she would open her arms for him before another sun had risen. Only hours remained between their meeting; but Dan felt that those hours must be occupied with Titus Sim. To hide his secret from Titus was no longer possible. Often and often he had blamed himself for doing so. Sim’s love for Minnie had long been general knowledge and a frequent theme of conversation among men and maidens at Middlecott Court. Not seldom had Daniel risen and taken himself beyond earshot. One thing he remembered: that Sim had never in his hearing spoken an unkind word of him, or an improper one concerning his wife. Now, upon this night, Sim’s joy hurt and stabbed the man with the black face. To see Titus thus glad at the possibility of bliss impossible, was a tragic spectacle for Sweetland. He thought deeply, then resolved with himself that, despite the terrific shock of it, he would break the truth to Sim. To delay was the greater cruelty. He had, indeed, desired from the moment of his landing to let Titus into the great secret; but Henry Vivian refused to allow him to do so.
It was past midnight when Daniel, acting upon this new impulse, dressed himself and went to the room near his own in which Titus slept. A light was burning and Mr Sim, who had not retired, turned from the writing of a letter to see the black man standing in the door.
“Hullo, Obi! Whatever do you want?” he asked; then made the sign of a question.
But Daniel answered and Sim fell back speechless upon his bed to hear the long silent tones.
“What nightmare’s this? You can speak—speak in that voice? What are you then?”
“One as be your friend always—always—one as can’t live this lie no more—not for you, Titus. It have hurt me to the soul doing it; it have tormented me day by day to see your honest face and hear your honest speech. But you must forgive me for coming to life, old pal. ’Twas time an’ more than time I did so seemingly. After to-night I couldn’t hide myself behind this black face and this blank silence no more—not from you. Say you forgive me, Titus. ’Twas life or death, remember.”
“Your life is my death,” answered the other, slowly. “Do you understand that?”
Sim had turned deathly white, and perspiration made his face shine like ivory.