“It is I.”
“What are you doing here in the middle of the night?” cried Crellock.
“I am watching,” said Bayle.
“Yes,” cried Crellock wearily. “Me, I suppose. Well, what have you seen? Do you think I was going to finish young Eaton? There—speak out.”
“I came up because I could not sleep,” said Bayle quietly. “I was anxious about my friends. How is Mr Eaton?”
“Go in and see,” said Crellock roughly; and he led the way through the verandah.
Bayle made no reply, but walked straight to the couch, after taking the candle from the chimney-piece, and examined the injured man.
“He is sleeping comfortably and well,” he said in a whisper, as he replaced the candle.
“Of course he is,” sneered Crellock. “You seem very fond of him.” Bayle paid no heed to his manner, but stood as if thinking. “Well, are you going to stop? Have a cigar?”
“I will stay and watch with you if you are tired, and relieve you for an hour or two,” said Bayle, at last.