"It's true," he said. "I'm bound to confess it's true. But I thank God you came in time!"
"Bah!" I ejaculated contemptuously. "I don't like your penitence, Mr. Scoffold. Now turn about and go up to the house. I'll follow you."
He hesitated for a moment, and then turned and walked towards the house. I picked up the other gun and followed him, and in that order we came to the house, and marched up the steps and into the hall. He looked back at me over his shoulder then.
"Which way?" he asked sulkily.
"I want to see the doctor," I replied, setting the guns down in a corner. "Lead the way; I'll follow you."
He turned into a room on the right, crossed it, and came to a door at the other side. Opening this, he passed through, and I followed him. Directly I got into the room I saw before me a curious little scene, and one that, even now, in the recollection of it, sends a thrill at once of pity and of admiration through me, however unwillingly. The doctor was seated by a table, on which was spread a white cloth; an open case of surgical instruments was by his side. Leaning across the table was Martha Leach, doing something with a bowl of water and a small sponge. Very slowly and calmly Bardolph Just was cleaning the broken flesh and bone, quite as calmly, save for an occasional spasm of pain that crossed his face, as though he had been operating on a patient. He turned his head for a moment as we came into the room, and stopped what he was doing.
"Take that fellow away!" he shouted.
But I stood my ground. "Thanks," I replied, "I prefer to remain. There is a word or two to be said between us, doctor; but pray don't let me interrupt what you are doing. Your injury is not quite as bad as I had hoped; but then I am not much good behind a gun. I hoped to hit a vital spot."
"Why did you shoot me?" he asked sullenly.
"Don't ask idle questions," I retorted. "Get on with your work."