Part 40 (2/2)

”Oh Walter,” cried his wife in genuine distress, ”don't--don't!

Think--you must not die so--think of--of the other world, Walter--you must not die so!”

G.o.ddard smiled faintly--scornfully, his wife thought.

”I daresay I shall not die till to-morrow, or next day--but I will not live,” he said with sudden energy. ”Do you understand me, I will not live! Bah!” he cried, falling back upon his pillow, ”the grapes are sour--I can't live if I would. Oh yes, I know all about that--my sins.

Well, I am sorry for them. I am sorry, Mary. But it is very little good--people always laugh at--deathbed repentance--”

He stopped and his thoughts seemed wandering. Mary G.o.ddard gave him something to drink and tried to calm him. But he moved restlessly, though feebly.

”Softly, softly,” he murmured again. ”He is coming--close to me. Get ready--now--no not yet, yes--now. Ugh!” yelled G.o.ddard, suddenly springing up, his eyes starting from his head. ”Ugh! the dog--oh!”

”Hush, Walter,” cried his wife, pus.h.i.+ng him back. ”Hush--no one will hurt you.”

”What--is that you, Mary?” asked the sick man, trembling violently. Then he laughed harshly. ”I was off again. Pshaw! I did not really mean to hurt him--he need not have set that beast at me. He did not catch me though--Mary, I am going to die--will you pray for me? You are a good woman--somebody will hear your prayers, I daresay. Do, Mary--I shall feel better somehow, though I daresay it is very foolish of me.”

”No, Walter--not foolish, not foolish. Would you like me to call Mr.

Ambrose? he is a clergyman--he is in the house.”

”No, no. You Mary, you--n.o.body will hear anybody else's prayers--for me--for poor me--”

”Try and pray with me, Walter,” said Mary G.o.ddard, very quietly. She seemed to have an unnatural strength given to her in that hour of distress and horror. She knelt down by the bedside and took his wounded hand in hers, tenderly, and she prayed aloud in such words as she could find.

Below, in the study, the detective had just finished telling his tale to the squire, and the wheels of Doctor Longstreet's dog-cart ground upon the gravel outside. The two men looked at each other for a moment, and Mr. Juxon spoke first.

”That is the doctor,” said he. ”I will ask you to have patience for five minutes, Mr. Booley. He will give you his opinion. I am still very much shocked at what you have told me--I had no idea what had happened.”

”No--I suppose not,” answered Mr. Booley calmly. ”If you will ask the medical man to step in here for one moment, I will explain matters to him. I don't think he will differ much from me.”

”Very well,” returned the squire, leaving the room. He went to meet Doctor Longstreet, intending to warn him of the presence of Mr. Booley, and meaning to entreat his support for the purpose of keeping G.o.ddard in the house until he should be recovered. He pa.s.sed through the library and exchanged a few words with Mr. Ambrose, explaining that the doctor had come. Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose were sitting on opposite sides of the fireplace in huge chairs, with a mournful air of resigned expectation upon their worthy faces. The detective remained alone in the study.

Meanwhile John Short had refreshed himself from his fatigues, and came down stairs in search of some breakfast. He had recovered from his excitement and was probably the only one who thought of eating, as he was also the one least closely concerned in what was occurring. Instead of going to the library he went to the dining-room, and, seeing no one about, entered the study from the door which on that side connected the two rooms. To his surprise he saw Mr. Booley standing before the fireplace, his hands in his pockets and his feet wide apart. He had not the least idea who he was.

”Oh!” he exclaimed, staring hard at him.

”Yes,” said Mr. Booley, who took him for the physician whom he expected.

”I am George Booley of the detective service. I was expecting you, sir.

There is very little to be said. My time, as I told Mr. Juxon, is very valuable. I must have G.o.ddard out of the house by to-morrow afternoon at the latest. Now, doctor, it is of no use your talking to me about fever and all that--”

John had stood with his mouth open, staring in blank astonishment at the detective, unable to find words in which to question the man. At last he got his breath.

”What in the world are you talking about?” he asked slowly. ”Are you a raving lunatic--or what are you?”

”Come, come, doctor,” said Mr. Booley in persuasive accents, ”none of that with me, you know. If the man must be moved--why he must, that is all, and you must make it possible, somehow.”

”You are crazy!” exclaimed John. ”I am not the doctor, to begin with--”

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