"You—saw—me—then?"
Stewart nodded. Speaking was exquisite torture.
"Do you realize what you've done—that you've broken your life—"
Trevelyan sat motionless on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on a point of the pillow. The agony of the night before had been as nothing to this.
"You were an officer and you were afraid of danger—you! And you were coward enough to be willing to send another man to his death—" the young engineer broke off, breathing with labor. "You were willing to let me die. Did you think that would make it easier to win Cary?"
Then Trevelyan spoke.
"It's all true," he said, speaking so slowly that each word fell upon the deathly stillness in the room, like the slow thud of earth upon a coffin, "It's—all—true——but that! I was afraid and I was all you say, coward enough to let another man die or suffer as you are suffering now; and I've dishonored the Service and I've broken my life, but before God, I didn't know that you'd be sent in my place. As for Cary—"
"For Cary," said Stewart, "and for your father and my mother you're to swear to me to hold your tongue over this business. It's like you to go and blurt the whole thing out, but you're to swear you won't open your lips on the subject—ever; and you're to resign your commission in the Service as soon as it's possible without exciting suspicion."
Trevelyan drew back; his throat pulsing. There was the old, odd throbbing in his head, and the dimness of vision, too. After awhile the mist passed.