D’Arcy attempted to drag himself into a sitting position, but the pain it caused him rendered the attempt vain. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then slowly opened them. He became conscious of the fact that they were at cross-purposes.
“I don’t understand.... In any case you are too late.... But why do you want to kill me? What I did, I did for the sake of friendship. I don’t doubt you would—do the same for a woman in trouble—if—if you loved her.”
Jim passed his hand across his brow. It was bewildering, baffling!
“God, ain’t you got a soul?” he gasped. “Can you lie there within a few minutes of death and take a pride in what you did? Damn the fate that got you plugged before I could get my 226 hands on you. I suffered hell out there, these two months, hunting you all over the mountains, and now ...”
D’Arcy surveyed the distraught speaker in bewilderment. He had said that Angela had been brought back from the Silas P. Young. Then it wasn’t that escape that had sent him up here in bitter, revengeful mood. He began to touch the outer edge of the truth.
“I’m cold,” he muttered. “And it grows dark.... Where are you?... I must know more, ... tell me what troubles you.... Do you think there was anything more in that business but friendship? Speak!”
“I know!”
“Ah—I see.... So that’s it.... See here, friend.... I’m going out ... right out, where perhaps there’s a tribunal.... I’ve done bad things, but not that.... I’m glad you came ... in time. And you thought that of me—O God!”
Jim recoiled with blanched cheeks before these words, ringing as they did with truth. He tried to get a clear grip of the position, but his brain reeled under the force of this astounding dénouement. 227 D’Arcy was speaking again—so faint he could scarcely hear.
“And to think that of—her! Man—man—and you look as though you love her.... She’s all that’s good and pure, though her pride is—great, too great,... and she’s willful and unrelenting.... Go back and put this right. Don’t let this terrible unjust suspicion remain....”