“I’m no good to talk now, Harry. You’ll find me better next time, only, Harry, mind, remember, I mayn’t be long for this world, and—I give you my honour—I swear, in the presence of God, who’ll judge me, I never was married to Bertha. It’s a lie. I knew she’d give me trouble some day; but it’s a lie. Alice is my wife. I never had a wife but Alice, by G— Almighty! That other’s a lie. Don’t you know it’s a lie, Harry?”
“Don’t be botherin’ yourself about that now,” said Harry, coldly, with rather a sullen countenance, looking askance through the open space in the window shutter to the distant horizon. “Long heads, my lad, and lawyers lear for the quips and cranks o’ law. What should I know?”
“Harry, I know you love me; you won’t let wrong be believed,” said Charles Fairfield, in a voice suddenly stronger than he had spoken in before.
“I won’t let wrong be believed,” he answered coolly, perhaps sulkily; and he looked at him steadily for a little with his mouth sullenly open.
“You know, Harry,” he pleaded, “there’s a little child coming: it would not do to wrong it. Oh! Harry, don’t you love your poor, only brother?”
Harry looked as if he was going to say something saucy, but instead of that, he broke into a short laugh.
“Upon my soul, Charlie, a fellow’d think you took me for an affidavit-man. When did I ever tell now’t but the truth? Sich rot! A chap like me, that’s faulted always for bein’ too blunt and plain-spoken, and as for likin’, I’d like to know what else brings me here. Of course I don’t say I love any one, all out, as well as Harry Fairfield. You’re my brother, and I stand by you according; but as I said before, I love my shirt very well, but I like my skin better. Hey! And that’s all fair.”
“All fair, Harry—I’ll—I’ll talk no more now, Harry. I’ll lie down for a little, and we’ll meet again.”
Harry was again looking through the space of the open shutter, and he yawned. He was thinking of taking his leave.
In this “brown study” he was interrupted by a sound. It was like the beginning of a little laugh. He looked at Charlie, who had uttered it; his thin hand was extended toward the little table at the bed-side, and his long arm in its shirt-sleeve. His eyes were open, but his face was changed. Harry had seen death often enough to recognise it. With a dreadful start, he was on his feet, and had seized his brother by the shoulder.