“Want some water?”
“No,” he said sadly; “I want nothing now, only for you to promise me something.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t write, but I want you to promise me when you get home to go to my father and mother, and of course they’ll know everything from the papers; but I want you, my messmate, to tell them I was not quite such a wretch as I seem to have been.”
“Oh, never mind about that now,” I said. “Get well, and go and tell them yourself.”
“No,” he said calmly; “I shall not get well. I could see it in Mr Frewen’s eyes. I’m very glad now. If I got well, of course I should have to be tried and punished, and be a convict. I should deserve it, but the judge and lawyers would be very hard, and I don’t want them to try me.”
“Oh, come, Walters, old chap,” I cried in a choking voice, “don’t take it like that.” And I caught his hand in mine, and felt him press it feebly, as his face lit-up with a pleasant smile, which made him look quite changed.
“Yes,” he said, quite cheerfully, but almost in a whisper, “I must take it like that now. Old Jarette aimed too well.”
He lay looking straight out of the bright cabin-window; while I tried to speak, but found no words would come. I knew that the wind had dropped again, for the ship had grown steady once more; but I forgot all about the approaching boats, and could only sit holding Walters’ hand, and watching his altered face.
“Yes,” he said at last, “Jarette aimed too straight, Dale, old fellow, it has all been a mistake. I was a weak, conceited fool, and thought every one was against me, when it was all my fault. I know it now. Any fellow can make himself liked if he only tries—no, without trying, if he’ll only go straight and act like a man. But somehow I couldn’t. I got jealous of you, and wild because people made so much of you. And I said you hated me, and did all you could to make things worse, but it wasn’t true, Dale, old fellow. It was all my fault.”