James saw his opportunity in Colonel Clibborn's invitation to shoot; he was most anxious to make the affair seem accidental, and that, in cleaning his gun, was easy. He had been wounded before and knew that the pain was not very great. He had, therefore, nothing to fear.
Now at last he regained his spirits. He did not read or walk, but spent the day talking with his father; he wished the last impression he would leave to be as charming as possible, and took great pains to appear at his best.
He slept well that night, and in the morning dressed himself with unusual care. At Primpton House they breakfasted at eight, and afterwards James smoked his pipe, reading the newspaper. He was a little astonished at his calm, for doubt no longer assailed him, and the indecision which paralysed all his faculties had disappeared.
"It is the beginning of my freedom," he thought. All human interests had abandoned him, except a vague sensation of amusement. He saw the humour of the comedy he was acting, and dispassionately approved himself, because he did not give way to histrionics.
"Well, Uncle William," he said, at last, "what d'you say to setting to work on our guns?"
"I'm always ready for everything," said Major Forsyth.
"Come on, then."
They went into what they called the harness-room, and James began carefully to clean his gun.
"I think I'll take my coat off," he said; "I can work better without."
The gun had not been used for several months, and James had a good deal to do. He leant over and rubbed a little rust off the lock.