“Throw her over?” laughed North.
“Why she threw me over for Tom. She’s a queer one, old chap.”
“Are you a man?” cried Salis fiercely, “that you torture me like this. Can you not see the shame of it—the disgrace to Mary and me? Horace North, I feel as if I were grovelling in the mire, and you, my oldest friend, come and set your heel upon my neck.”
“Eh? Heel? Your neck?”
“Yes; I know that you must have suffered heavily. It has been a terrible affliction to both Mary and me, for we felt with you; but for Heaven’s sake, Horace, don’t rush into this reckless extreme. Man, man, I want your sympathy and help, if ever I did, and you—you are so changed.”
“Yes, yes,” said North, in a hoarse whisper, and with a ghastly look in his eyes. “So changed—so horribly changed.”
“Ah!” cried Salis joyfully; “that’s like your old self again. Why, North, what has come to you?”
“Come to me? You dog! Come to me, eh? Look as if I’d been drinking, do I? Oh, I’m all right enough!”
Salis looked at him aghast once more, just as if he had been indeed drinking; but his friend’s acts belied his words, for he uttered a low groan, laid his arms upon the table and let his head sink down.
There was such desolation in his manner that Salis crossed to him and laid his hand upon his shoulder, when, to his horror, the poor fellow uttered a wild shriek, and started up to dash to the other side of the room.