"Just collect your wits and listen to me," said Cyril, imperiously, as he fixed Jack's gaze with his own. "If you get out of this scrape scot-free—you understand?"—Jack nodded hungrily—"will you swear never to touch a card or back a horse again?"
"Get out of it? Oh, Wayne—Cyril, old man, how? How?" implored Jack, with trembling lips, half rising from his seat.
Cyril pushed him back impatiently. "That is not the answer I want," said he. He repeated his question. "Do you swear?" he asked. "Quick! Quick, man! I can hear footsteps. A moment more and it won't matter what you say."
"Yes, yes, I swear, I swear!" repeated Jack, fervently, as he gulped down something that had risen in his throat.
"Very good!" Cyril's grasp closed like a steel vice on his shoulder. "Jack Selden," continued the young man, sternly, "what I am going to do I shall do for Madge's—your cousin's—sake; but if you fail to keep that oath you have just made, do you know that you will be the meanest, pitifullest hound that ever walked God's earth? If you do fail—" he paused, "well, never cross my path, that's all. Now rouse up. Look like yourself, man; they are here."
It was true. There was a sound of slippered feet outside the study door. Jack rose from his chair and stood behind it, his face drawn, his eyes roving. He felt sick with the fear clutching at his heart.
"Not a word from you," whispered Cyril, rapidly; "leave everything to me."
There was the sharp click of a pistol-trigger outside; a pause; and then the study door was flung wide open. In the corridor stood the doctor and Madge alone. The latter was holding a candle above her head in her left hand; with her right she pointed a revolver.
"IN THE CORRIDOR STOOD THE DOCTOR AND MADGE ALONE."