But I
answered softly: "Trust me, lad!" And at that he smiled and lay still,
gazing up at me with eyes of deep affection. "I have sent for her," I whispered. "Yes," he sighed. "I know; but she will be too late. Tell her--not to
fret!" and at the last word the light faded from his eyes and he was
dead. Long afterwards Miss Ottley came into the room. She was pale, but
invincibly composed. I gave her his message and left her alone with
the dead. The owner of the house, Lord Bill and the surgeon led me
out into the garden. They spoke to me in decorous hushed voices for a
while, then let me be. I walked up and down the pathway till break of
day, and what I thought about I cannot tell. I remember being closely
questioned by a policeman. Then Miss Ottley took my arm and we walked
to the station. I thought it my place to be kind to her, yet she was
kind to me. "One might think you cared," she said, and smiled into my face. We got
into a train and as soon as it started Lord Bill broke out crying. He declared that Weldon was the best fellow in the world and that he
would miss him dreadfully. Then he said in the midst of life we are
in death, and laughed, and without asking permission, he began to
smoke a cigarette. It is strange how differently people are affected
by emotion. I was mentally dazed, and I fancy part of my brain was
benumbed. Miss Ottley was poignantly awake, but her pride, and her
strength of mind served her for a mask. Lord Bill, on the other hand,
acted as responsively to his feelings as an infant. And yet each of us
behaved naturally. I reflected on these things all the way to town. Lord Bill bade us farewell at the station. Miss Ottley and I drove to
her home in a hansom. During the drive she spoke about the funeral
quite calmly and mentioned poor Weldon's love for big, red roses. His
coffin should be smothered in roses, she declared. When I helped her to the pavement, she pointed up at a window that was
open. "Dr. Belleville's room," she said, and smiled. "He is enjoying
his triumph. He kept his word to the letter. It is the seventh day. The
seventh day, Hugh Pinsent; that is a terrible man. How shall I possibly
withstand him?" I shook my head. "You are wrong," I answered dully. "He is not
responsible for this. It was an accident." "Are you sure?" she asked. "I am sure of nothing," I replied. "But it seems to me an accident--and
yet. But there. I am incapable of reasoning in my present mood. I shall
see you again. In the meanwhile--think of Weldon's last words to you
and do not grieve too much!" "And you?" I shrugged my shoulders. "I have never felt more miserable. And already
I am beginning to fancy I might have saved him." "How?" "By going yesterday to your father and Dr. Belleville and forcing them
at the muzzle of a revolver to tell me things they know and which I
want to know." "You rave," she muttered coldly, and slowly climbed the steps. I followed her and rang the bell. "If you persist in thinking my father a bad man, I never want to speak
to you again," she whispered. There were steps in the passage. I took off my hat to her. "I must
mend my thoughts," I said. The door opened and Dr. Belleville appeared upon the threshold. The girl gave him a quick look before which he quailed. But he
recovered quickly. "I sincerely trust you bring good news," he said, in
tones of deep concern. "The best," answered Miss Ottley, and drawing in her gown she swept
past him with a glance of bitter hate, into the house. Belleville looked after her, then turned to me, plucking at his jetty
beard and frowning heavily. "Weldon is better?" he inquired. "He is dead," I said. "Poor, poor fellow," sighed Dr. Belleville. "I am greatly pained to
hear it. You were his friend, were you not, Pinsent? I can see that you
are upset. Won't you come in and have a glass of brandy? you look quite
done up." "No, thank you," I answered. "I must get home and change these
bloodstained clothes--there is to be an inquest this afternoon. Good-morning." "Good-morning!" he replied. He was staring at the bloodstains to which
I had purposely directed his attention. But he did not give a sign of
agitation. His face remained as expressionless as wood. Chapter XX

Lady Helen's Medicine Operates


On arrival at Jermyn Street I changed my clothes and, having collected
all my belongings, I repaired at once to Dixon Hubbard's flat. I could
not endure the thought of spending one unnecessary moment in my poor
dead friend's abode. I saw his honest face and gay, mirth-filled eyes
in every corner; and he smiled at me from every dark nook and shadow
of the trophy-covered walls. Hubbard received me with his usual frozen
politeness. He was still in bed. But I felt an overmastering desire for
human sympathy, so I ignored his manner and told him what had passed. He was sorry, I think. He had only met Weldon twice, and had merely
exchanged a word or two with him, but he admitted having felt drawn to
the bright and manly lad; and though he said little, it could be seen
that he was shocked to hear of a death so untimely and on all accounts
so utterly regrettable. And he strove to cheer me in his way. After a
long silence, he suddenly remarked on the iron-bound remorselessness of
fate. "There," he said, "was a young fellow just about to taste his cup
of long-anticipated happiness. A man with many friends and no enemies;
universally liked and respected. Yet destiny, without warning, dashed
the cup for ever from his lips. And one cannot console oneself with the
reflection that he has been spared the pain and shame of finding the
contents bitter-sweet and mixed with dregs; for the girl loved him, I
am told, and she was good to look upon, and honest-hearted. What is the
meaning of it all? Omar laughingly declares that the Potter is a Good
Fellow and 'twill all be well. But how many pots have encountered that
experience? Have I--though still I'm here? And you? I'm all awry. The
Potter's hand shook in making me. As for you, you started straight,
but you grow more crooked every day and it's not your fault; you are a
helpless dough puppet in the hands of destiny." "You think I grow crooked?" I asked, surprised. "Mentally?" "Morally," he answered, with a sneer. "You picked a foolish quarrel to
leave me, and now you are back again. Why?" "Can you tell me?" "I have a theory," he said, with kindly eyes. "Tell me if I am wrong. My wife has become interested in you. She has marked you for a victim. At first you were unwilling. You could not even bear to be near me. But
now you are more callous." "You are wrong," I replied--then suddenly remembered that I had given a
solemn promise to Lady Helen. No doubt Hubbard marked the change in my expression. His sneer grew
more pronounced. But I had a task to get through somehow. "Lady Helen, with all due deference to you, Hubbard," I said slowly,
"is not a woman I could ever care about. I feel certain she is even
less interested in me than I am in her.