"I thought that."
"How could you—think it? Did—others—think so?" he asked anxiously.
"No, not others; I alone. They thought it accident; they could have no ground for suspicion. But I had; and, besides, there were marks on your throat."
"Nothing must happen to him, you understand. He had been drinking, and —and he was justified. I wronged him in Samoa, him and Mrs. Falchion."
I nodded and put my fingers on my lips.
Again there was silence. I sat and watched him, his eyes closed, his body was motionless. He slept for hours so, and then he waked rather sharply, and said half deliriously: "I could have dragged him with me, Marmion."
"But you did not. Yes, I understand. Go to sleep again, Roscoe."
Later on the fever came, and he moaned and moved his head about his pillow. He could not move his body—it was too much injured.
There was a source of fear in Kilby. Would he recklessly announce what he had done, and the cause of it? After thinking it over and over, I concluded that he would not disclose his crimes. My conclusions were right, as after events showed.
As for Roscoe, I feared that if he lived he must go through life maimed. He had a private income; therefore if he determined to work no more in the ministry, he would, at least, have the comforts of life.