“I remember you paid a tribute to his friendship when we were talking with Judge Herford. Do you think he would have left you?”
Faunce lifted his head at that, staring off into space with an unseeing look, his hands twitching nervously.
“No!” he said at last, hoarsely. “No, I can’t say so. He was a brave man, and I—is there any way of escaping a seizure like that? I’m ashamed of it. I’ve suffered horribly; but I—I have a horrible feeling that I might do it again, if I had to face it like that. I couldn’t have stood up to a fight. You—did you suspect me when you told that story of the soldier in the Philippines?”
The doctor was sitting with the tips of his fingers nicely fitted together. He seemed, at the moment, to be deeply engaged with them.
“I can’t say I did. I don’t think I had ever imagined just your situation, though I saw that you had something weighing on your mind.”
“It has nearly driven me mad! I can’t tell you why I did it. I obeyed an impulse, a madness. If I hadn’t we should both be down there now. My staying wouldn’t have saved him. You see how it was? You understand?”
“I understand that you obeyed a pretty universal instinct of self-preservation.”
“That was it!” cried Faunce eagerly. “It was an impulse. I wanted to live—God knows I wanted to live! I was willing to fight to live!”
The doctor nodded, silently watching him with a kind of curiosity that suggested a naturalist’s minute interest in a noisome insect.
“I wanted to live,” Faunce repeated. “It didn’t seem to be wrong to want to save myself.”