He looked upon Stratton’s worn and aged face with a look full of pity and compunction.
“I acted for the best, my boy,” he said—“I acted for the best; but I feel that I have been, in my zeal, half-mad. Still at such a time a man cannot be cool-blooded, and act as he would after longer thought.”
Then, as he saw Stratton’s hands raised:
“The doctor came, saw the patient, and made his examination carefully, ending by applying proper bandages to the wound, while Barron lay perfectly insensible, only uttering a low moan now and then, as if he felt pain when touched; otherwise he lay quite calmly, as if asleep.
“And as the doctor busied himself he asked no questions; but, as if he were influenced by my thoughts as I stood by him, watching him and waiting to give him a garbled—there, a lying—version of the incident, he at last took the very view as I wished to convey it to him by words.
“‘A bad case, sir,’ he said at last. ‘I can do no more now. The bullet is evidently deeply imbedded. I will not take the risk of probing for it. Shall I get one of our eminent specialists in consultation?’
“I shook my head.
“‘Fatal?’ I said at last.
“He shrugged his shoulders.
“‘Must speak plainly, sir,’ he said. ‘It is of no use to talk of hope to a man when one feels that there can be none. Poor fellow, his face tells the tale plainly enough. Drink. Stimulus after stimulus till the brandy, or whatever it is, ceases to have its effect. I knew one poor fellow who used to heat brandy over a spirit lamp to make its effect more rapid. Yes, ceases to have its effect, and more is used. Then the digestive powers break down, the over-goaded brain leaps from its bounds, and we have the delirium that ends in men feeling that life is not worth living, and makes them suicidal like this.’”