The grip of the thin fingers tightened upon the hand of reassurance. “My God!” breathed the prodigal, “and I’ve been trying to kill you! Mr. Tregarvon, can you go one step farther and—and turn Morgan McNabb loose? That’s what made me frame it up with sister and Hartridge and Mr. Carfax to bring you here to-night.”
“McNabb will not be brought back; I promise you that. Shall I send your sister up to you?”
“Not—not right now; tell her to play something; something low and soft that’ll make the devil let me alone. I want to think. I—I reckon I’m willing to go to the convict camps now for trying to square up with Parker; I reckon I ought to go!”
Tregarvon went out softly, closing the door behind him and groping his way down the stair. Richardia was waiting for him in the hall below, as he hoped she would be, and she led him across to the drawing-room where there were lights and a wood-fire purring and crackling in the big stone fireplace.
“Tell me,” she entreated.
“There is nothing to tell—nothing that you haven’t already guessed. I am completely disarmed, as you knew I would be. I have assured your brother that he has nothing to fear from me.”
“It has been very dreadful,” she said, moving aside to hold her hands out to the fire.
“How badly was he hurt in the explosion?”
“So badly that it is only within the past few days that we have dared to hope. Mr. Carfax hasn’t told you?”
“Not a word. Your secret has been guarded very carefully.”