“Never move, Justin,” said Gascoigne, who stood by his head. “You are hurt. Lie still. The doctor has been summoned.”
“Ah!” It was a sigh. The wounded man closed his eyes a moment, then re-opened them. “I remember. I remember,” he said feebly. “It is—it is grave?” he inquired. “It went right through me. I remember!” He surveyed himself. “There's been a deal of blood lost. I am like to die, I take it.”
“Nay, sir, we hope not—we hope not!” It was the countess who spoke.
A wry smile twisted his lips. “Your ladyship is very good,” said he. “I had not thought you quite so much my well-wisher. I—I have done you a wrong, madam.” He paused for breath, and it was not plain whether he spoke in sincerity or in sarcasm. Then with a startling suddenness he broke into a soft laugh and to those risen, who could not think what had occasioned it, it sounded more dreadful than any plaint he could have uttered.
He had bethought him that there was no longer the need for him to come to a decision in the matter that had brought him to England, and his laugh was almost of relief. The riddle he could never have solved for himself in a manner that had not shattered his future peace of mind, was solved and well solved if this were death.
“Where—where is Rotherby?” he inquired presently.
There was a stir, and men drew back, leaving an open lane to the place where Rotherby stood. Mr. Caryll saw him, and smiled, and his smile held no tinge of mockery. “You are the best friend I ever had, Rotherby,” he startled all by saying. “Let him approach,” he begged.
Rotherby came forward like one who walks in his sleep. “I am sorry,” he said thickly, “cursed sorry.”
“There's scarce the need,” said Mr. Caryll. “Lift me up, Tom,” he begged Gascoigne. “There's scarce the need. You have cleared up something that was plaguing me, my lord. I am your debtor for—for that. It disposes of something I could never have disposed of had I lived.” He turned to the Duke of Wharton. “It was an accident,” he said significantly. “You all saw that it was an accident.”
A denial rang out. “It was no accident!” cried Lord Ostermore, and swore an oath. “We all saw what it was.”