Part 48 (2/2)

Wagram told him, also hurriedly, about his intervening adventures. The dying man's face underwent some curious changes--not the least curious being that which pa.s.sed over it on beholding the skeleton pistol.

”Rum thing that you should have stumbled on to that hooker not once but twice,” he said. ”But, good Lord! life for me has been made up of even rummier things than that, and now I've got to the end of it. Yes; I know that pistol. That bright half-brother of yours plugged a hole into me with it that'll last till my dying day--which, by the way, has come.

And I?--well, I planted a mark on him that'll last till his.”

He checked himself suddenly, with a queer look.

”What was the story of the Red Derelict?” said Wagram, after a pause.

”Better leave that alone--except that it was a story of red murder and piracy such as you'd think only existed in books. And now, Wagram,” he went on, ”I've been yarning a lot more than any man in my state ought to yarn, and I'm feeling tired. You'd never guess what brought me down here this time. It wasn't to fleece you again--no, no. Fact is, I heard you were back, and I was curious to see you again and hear how you had got on. And I have. You shook hands with me once; I'd be glad if you'd do it again.”

But Wagram's hand did not come forward, nor did he move.

”That was when I thought your story a true one,” he said. ”On your own showing you have heaped dishonour upon my family, and I can testify that you hastened my father's end. It is not in human nature to forgive that--at any rate, all at once.”

”Later than 'all at once' will be too late, and by refusing your forgiveness to a dying man you will be denying your own creed.”

He smiled as he watched the struggle going on within the other. Then Wagram slowly put forth his hand.

”For any injury to me I forgive you freely,” he said. ”For the rest I will try to. Good-bye.”

”And you will succeed. Good-bye, Wagram. You will never regret this.

And ask Haldane to come up for a minute. I should like to bid him good-bye for the sake of old times.”

Wagram bent his head and left the room, and at a word from him Haldane went up.

”This is a bad lookout, Jack,” he began in his downright way. ”No chance, I suppose, old chap?”

”No; none.”

”You wouldn't like, I suppose--er--to see a parson--er--or anyone in that line?”

”No--no. I've no use for any parson. The last sight of a man like Wagram's a sight better than any parson. Has he told you about his adventures and the Red Derelict, eh?”

”Yes; and they sounded so jolly tall that, if anybody but Wagram had told me, I shouldn't have believed half of them.”

”But they're true, all the same. I could take you to the very place.

And the white man who put him through all that lively time was no other than the chump he was looking for--his half-brother, Butcher Ned, as we used to call him--otherwise Everard Wagram.”

”Good Lord!”

”Fact. But I wasn't going to tell him that, neither must you--d'you hear?--neither must you. Because if you do nothing'll prevent him from starting right away to put himself in the power of that infernal cut-throat again--under the pretence of trying to reclaim him. Reclaim Butcher Ned!”

There was a world of expression in the dying adventurer's weakening voice over these last words. He went on:

”Wagram would never have got out of that camp alive if he hadn't got out when he did. Don't you see, that's why Ned wanted to make him bring his boy out there. Then he'd have done for the pair, and come and set up here at Hilversea. He would, sure as eggs. So never let on about it.”

”All right, I won't.” And after a little more talk the old comrades bade each other good-bye.

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