"I don't see why you should go at all," he said slowly. "I wouldn't, if I--I mean I would rather you didn't."
"Why?" The question came sharply.
"Do you want the truth?" asked Herbert Erlton with a sudden frown.
"Certainly."
"Then I'll tell it, Mr. Greyman--I mean Douglas--I--I'm grateful, but--d----n me, sir, if--if I want to be more so! I--I gave you my chance once--like a fool; for I might have saved her----"
The hard handsome face was all broken up with passionate regret, and the pity of it kept Jim Douglas silent for a moment. For he understood it.
"You might," he said at last. "But I don't interfere with you here. You can't save her--your wife, I mean--and if I fail you can always----"
"There is no need to tell me what to do then," interrupted Major Erlton grimly. "I'll do it without your help."
He turned on his heel, then paused. "It isn't that I'm ungrateful," he repeated, almost with an appeal in his voice. "And I don't mean to be offensive; only you and I can't----"
His own mental position seemed beyond him, and he stood for a moment irresolute. Then he held out his hand.