“You call me your friend—you offer me your hand, Dallas Bain—after what I have told you! Good heavens! I did not dream there was any man so noble!” cried Ray Dering, choking with emotion as he received the offered handclasp, adding: “I swear to you that this shall make a new man of me. I will deserve this confidence by some great deed that will condone the hateful past.”
Dallas Bain answered quietly:
“Your first step must be to control your jealous, fiery temper. He that is ruler over his own spirit is greater than a king.”
“Ah, Dallas, I am cured of all that madness, believe me. My spirit is crushed within me, and my remorse for the evil I have wrought is almost greater than I can bear. Think of my poor little love, Annette, unjustly accused and wounded, perhaps hating me in her heart, for which, indeed, I could not blame her, but must agree that she is right. Then, too, that poor fellow wounded unto death by my hand. Yet he never did me any harm. What if he dies? I shall be a wretched murderer!”
“He will not die,” answered Dallas Bain.
“Not die! Thank the good God who has spared me that remorse! Then you have heard from Gull Beach?”
“Not directly, but through the newspapers. Of course, a man as rich as Royall Sherwood must get due attention from the press.”
“And I thank God again that he is going to get well.”
“Not well, Ray.”
“But you said so only a minute ago, didn’t you?” anxiously.