“I came back to this very chair, Stratton, trembling and agitated as I had never been before, to stoop down at once, and then go upon one knee there—there on the rug. His head was just there, boy, and his face a little on one side, so that the profile of the vile scoundrel stood out, clearly cut, against the background of dark chocolate wood.”
Brettison’s manner was now excited, his words low and hoarse, and his manner had proved contagious; for Stratton’s lips parted, and he leaned over toward the speaker.
“For a few minutes I could do no more,” continued Brettison. “A horrible dread assailed me—that I had been deceived—that the door I had, in imagination, seen open before me had closed again, and that I was once more shut in with the terrible difficulty. But, nerving myself again, I passed one arm beneath the shoulders as before, raised him a little, and once more there was a low moan.”
“What?” cried Stratton wildly, as he started from his seat.
“Wait patiently, and you shall hear,” said Brettison; then, drawing a panting breath, as if the effort of recalling the terrible scene, with its excitement, was almost more than he could bear, he went on:
“I lowered him again, not daring to think that he was alive, knowing that the sound might have been caused by the escape of a little air from the cavity of the chest. For a few minutes I was sure that this was so, and my hopes were all dashed again. People have called me a learned man, Malcolm; but, before a difficulty like that, I was a poor, helpless, ignorant child.
“Mastering myself, though, at last, I thrust my hand into his breast; but I could feel nothing. I fancied there was a pulsation, but could not tell but that it might be caused by my own throbbing arteries. I tried the wrists, and then, tearing open the collar of his shirt, thrust my hand in there, and the pulsation was plain now. More, I distinctly felt a throb, as a low moan once more escaped from the man’s lips.”
“Not dead?” gasped Stratton. “Her husband! Living? Great Heavens!”
He sank back into his chair, staring wildly; and then, in a hoarse whisper:
“Go on!” he panted, “go on!”