“That it’s cruel to the poor fellow even to think of such a thing. I’d trust him anywhere.”
“Same here,” said Uncle Jeff.
“Same here,” said Blunt. “It must have been one of those fellows who had charge of the water-casks, but which we shall never know, for they will not split upon one another. Anyhow, they’ve fought well for us, and the only thing to be done is to let the matter drop.”
“As far as we can,” said Uncle Jeff very gravely. “It’s a serious thing, though.”
“Very,” replied Blunt; “and I’ve dwelt upon it time after time, till my head has been all in a whirl. You see, it was just when I was at my worst, and I can remember in my half-delirious state being in a terrible fright lest one of those stink-pots should come in, roll down the stairs, and then go bounding down and reach the magazine. It was like a nightmare to me.—And you remember, Stan, that, bad though I was, I sent Wing up to tell you of the need for being careful.”
“Oh yes, I remember,” said Stan.
“And even then I didn’t feel at rest,” continued Blunt, talking quickly, and seeming as if every incident connected with the first attack had come vividly back to his mind. “It was horrible, and what with the torture of my wound and that caused by anxiety lest any accident should happen to the powder, I felt as if I didn’t know what I was about. Now it was the wound, and now it was my head, and altogether it was like a terrible dream, all worry and bewildering excitement, till the pain and feverishness of my hurt were as nothing to the agony and dread lest the place should be blown up. It was then that I felt that something more must be done or the place would go, and I sent Wing to warn you, Lynn.”
“Yes; of course. I thought that you must be in a great state of fidget—and no wonder.”
“Fidget doesn’t express it, Lynn. I was—Bless me! How strange! How—”
Blunt stopped short, looking in a bewildered way from one to the other, and ending by clapping his hand to his forehead and holding it there.