I told you about my adventures with the niggers
up country. That was quite true. They cut off both my arms--you can see
the stumps for that matter. And I told you that I came home to find my
wife dying. Her heart had always been weak, I'd known that, and it had
gradually grown more feeble. There must have been, indeed there was, a
strange sort of telepathy between us. She had had fearful attacks of
heart failure on both occasions when the niggers had mutilated me, I
learnt on comparing notes. "But I had known too, somehow, that I must escape at all costs. It was
the knowledge that made me try again after each failure. I should have
gone on trying to escape as long as I had lived, or rather as long as
she had lived. I knelt beside her bed and she put out her arms and laid
them round my neck. "'So you have come back to me before I go,' she said. 'I knew you must,
because I called you so. But you have been long in coming, almost too
long. But I knew I had to see you again before I died.' "I broke down then. I was sorely tried. No arms even to put round her! "'Darling, stay with me for a little, only for a little while!' I
sobbed. "She shook her head feebly. 'It is no use, my dear,' she said, 'I must
go.' "'I'll come with you,' I said, 'I'll not live without you.' "She shook her head again. "'You must be brave, Bob. I shall be watching you afterwards just as
much as if I still lived on earth. If only I could give you my arms! A
poor, weak woman's arms, but better than none, dear.' "She died some weeks later. I spent all the time at her bedside, I
hardly left her. Her arms were round me when she died. Shall I ever feel
them round me again? I wonder! You see, they are mine now. "They came to me gradually. It was very strange at first to have arms
and hands which one couldn't see. I used to keep my eyes shut as much as
possible, and try to fancy that I had never lost my arms. "I got used to them in time. But I have always been careful not to let
people see me do things that they would know to be impossible for an
armless man. That was what took me to Africa again, because I could get
lost there and do things for myself with these hands." "'And they twain shall be one flesh,'" I muttered. "Yes," he said, "I think the explanation must be something of that sort. There's more than that in it, though; these arms are other than flesh." He sat silent for a time with his head bowed on his chest. Then he spoke
again:

"I got sick of being alone at last, and was coming back when I met you
at Fourteen Streams. I don't know what I shall do when I do get home. I
can never rest. I have--what do they call it--_Wanderlust_?" "Does she ever speak to you from that other world?" I asked him. He shook his head sadly. "No, never. But I know she lives somewhere beyond this world of ours. She must, because these arms live. So I try always to act as if she
watches everything. I always try to do the right thing, but, anyway,
these arms and hands would do good of their own accord. Just now up on
the deck I was very frightened. I'd have saved myself at any cost
almost, and let you go. But I could not do that. The hands clutched you. It is her will, so much stronger and purer than mine, that still
persists. It is only when she does not exert it that I control these
arms." That was how I learnt the strangest tale that ever a man was told, and
knew the miracle to which I owed my life. It may be that Bob Masters was a coward. He always said that he was. Personally I do not believe it, for he had the sweetest nature I ever
met. He had nowhere to go to in England and seemed to have no friends. So I
made him come down with me to Englehart, that dear old country seat of
my family in the Western shires which was now mine. Nancy lived in that country, too. There was no reason why we should not get married at once. We had waited
long enough. I can see again the old, ivy-grown church where Nancy and I were wed,
and Bob Masters standing by my side as best man. I remember feeling in his pocket for the ring, and as I did so, I felt a
hand grasp mine for a moment. Then there was the reception afterwards, and speech-making--the usual
sort of thing. Later Nancy and I drove off to the station. We had not said good-bye to Bob, for he'd insisted on driving to the
station with the luggage; said he was going to see the last of us there. He was waiting for us in the yard when we reached it, and walked with us
on to the platform. We stood there chatting about one thing and another, when I noticed that
Nancy was not talking much and seemed rather pale. I was just going to
remark on it when we heard the whistle of the train. There is a sharp
curve in the permanent way outside the station, so that a train is on
you all of a sudden. Suddenly to my horror I saw Nancy sway backwards towards the edge of the
platform. I tried vainly to catch her as she reeled and fell--right in
front of the oncoming train. I sprang forward to leap after her, but
hands grasped me and flung me back so violently that I fell down on the
platform. It was Bob Masters who took the place that should have been mine, and
leapt upon the metals. I could not see what happened then. The station-master says he saw Nancy
lifted from before the engine when it was right upon her. He says it was
as if she was lifted by the wind. She was quite close to Masters. "Near
enough for him to have lifted her, sir, if he'd had arms." The two of
them staggered for a moment, and together fell clear of the train. Nancy was little the worse for the awful accident, bruised, of course,
but poor Masters was unconscious. We carried him into the waiting-room, laid him on the cushions there,
and sent hot-foot for the doctor. He was a good country practitioner, and, I suppose, knew the ordinary
routine of his work quite well. He fussed about, hummed and hawed a lot. "Yes, yes," he said, as if he were trying to persuade himself. "Shock,
you know. He'll be better presently. Lucky, though, that he had no
arms." I noticed then, for the first time, that the sleeves of the coat had
been shorn away. "Doctor," I said, "how is he? Surely, if he isn't hurt he would not look
like that. What exactly do you mean by shock?" "Hum--er," he hesitated, and applied his stethoscope to Masters' heart
again. "The heart is very weak," he said at length. "Very weak. He's always
very anæmic, I suppose?" "No," I answered. "He's anything but that. He's----Good Lord, he's
bleeding to death! Put ligatures on his arms. Put ligatures on his
arms." "Please keep quiet, Mr. Riverston," the doctor said. "It must have been
a dreadful experience for you, and you are naturally very upset." I raved and cursed at him. I think I should have struck him, but the
others held me. They said they would take me away if I did not keep
quiet. Bob Masters opened his eyes presently, and saw them holding me. "Please let him go," he said. "It's all right, old man. It's no use your
arguing with them, they would not understand.