Then he paused and seemed to
hesitate; and then, "You had better look at the face," said he, in tones
of some constraint. "You had better," he repeated, as Fettes only stared
at him in wonder. "But where, and how, and when did you come by it?" cried the other. "Look at the face," was the only answer. Fettes was staggered; strange doubts assailed him. He looked from the
young doctor to the body, and then back again. At last, with a start, he
did as he was bidden. He had almost expected the sight that met his
eyes, and yet the shock was cruel. To see, fixed in the rigidity of
death and naked on that coarse layer of sackcloth, the man whom he had
left well clad and full of meat and sin upon the threshold of a tavern,
awoke, even in the thoughtless Fettes, some of the terrors of the
conscience. It was a _cras tibi_ which re-echoed in his soul, that two
whom he had known should have come to lie upon these icy tables. Yet
these were only secondary thoughts. His first concern regarded Wolfe. Unprepared for a challenge so momentous, he knew not how to look his
comrade in the face. He durst not meet his eye, and he had neither words
nor voice at his command. It was Macfarlane himself who made the first advance. He came up quietly
behind and laid his hand gently but firmly on the other's shoulder. "Richardson," said he, "may have the head." Now Richardson was a student who had long been anxious for that portion
of the human subject to dissect. There was no answer, and the murderer
resumed: "Talking of business, you must pay me; your accounts, you see,
must tally." Fettes found a voice, the ghost of his own: "Pay you!" he cried. "Pay
you for that?" "Why, yes, of course you must. By all means and on every possible
account, you must," returned the other. "I dare not give it for nothing,
you dare not take it for nothing; it would compromise us both. This is
another case like Jane Galbraith's. The more things are wrong the more
we must act as if all were right. Where does old K---- keep his money?" "There," answered Fettes hoarsely, pointing to a cupboard in the corner. "Give me the key, then," said the other calmly, holding out his hand. There was an instant's hesitation, and the die was cast. Macfarlane
could not suppress a nervous twitch, the infinitesimal mark of an
immense relief, as he felt the key between his fingers. He opened the
cupboard, brought out pen and ink and a paper-book that stood in one
compartment, and separated from the funds in a drawer a sum suitable to
the occasion. "Now, look here," he said, "there is the payment made--first proof of
your good faith: first step to your security. You have now to clinch it
by a second. Enter the payment in your book, and then you for your part
may defy the devil." The next few seconds were for Fettes an agony of thought; but in
balancing his terrors it was the most immediate that triumphed. Any
future difficulty seemed almost welcome if he could avoid a present
quarrel with Macfarlane. He set down the candle which he had been
carrying all this time, and with a steady hand entered the date, the
nature, and the amount of the transaction. "And now," said Macfarlane, "it's only fair that you should pocket the
lucre. I've had my share already. By-the-bye, when a man of the world
falls into a bit of luck, has a few shillings extra in his pocket--I'm
ashamed to speak of it, but there's a rule of conduct in the case. No
treating, no purchase of expensive class-books, no squaring of old
debts; borrow, don't lend." "Macfarlane," began Fettes, still somewhat hoarsely, "I have put my neck
in a halter to oblige you." "To oblige me?" cried Wolfe. "Oh, come! You did, as near as I can see
the matter, what you downright had to do in self-defence. Suppose I got
into trouble, where would you be? This second little matter flows
clearly from the first. Mr. Gray is the continuation of Miss Galbraith. You can't begin and then stop. If you begin, you must keep on beginning;
that's the truth. No rest for the wicked." A horrible sense of blackness and the treachery of fate seized hold upon
the soul of the unhappy student. "My God!" he cried, "but what have I done? and when did I begin? To be
made a class assistant--in the name of reason, where's the harm in that? Service wanted the position; Service might have got it. Would _he_ have
been where _I_ am now!" "My dear fellow," said Macfarlane, "what a boy you are! What harm _has_
come to you? What harm _can_ come to you if you hold your tongue? Why,
man, do you know what this life is? There are two squads of us--the
lions and the lambs. If you're a lamb, you'll come to lie upon these
tables like Gray or Jane Galbraith; if you're a lion, you'll live and
drive a horse like me, like K----, like all the world with any wit or
courage. You're staggered at the first. But look at K----! My dear
fellow, you're clever, you have pluck. I like you, and K---- likes you. You were born to lead the hunt; and I tell you, on my honour and my
experience of life, three days from now you'll laugh at all these
scarecrows like a High School boy at a farce." And with that Macfarlane took his departure and drove off up the wynd
in his gig to get under cover before daylight. Fettes was thus left
alone with his regrets. He saw the miserable peril in which he stood
involved. He saw, with inexpressible dismay, that there was no limit to
his weakness, and that, from concession to concession, he had fallen
from the arbiter of Macfarlane's destiny to his paid and helpless
accomplice. He would have given the world to have been a little braver
at the time, but it did not occur to him that he might still be brave. The secret of Jane Galbraith and the cursed entry in the day-book closed
his mouth. Hours passed; the class began to arrive; the members of the unhappy Gray
were dealt out to one and to another, and received without remark. Richardson was made happy with the head; and before the hour of freedom
rang Fettes trembled with exultation to perceive how far they had
already gone toward safety. For two days he continued to watch, with increasing joy, the dreadful
process of disguise. On the third day Macfarlane made his appearance. He had been ill, he
said; but he made up for lost time by the energy with which he directed
the students. To Richardson in particular he extended the most valuable
assistance and advice, and that student, encouraged by the praise of the
demonstrator, burned high with ambitious hopes, and saw the medal
already in his grasp. Before the week was out Macfarlane's prophecy had been fulfilled. Fettes
had outlived his terrors and had forgotten his baseness. He began to
plume himself upon his courage, and had so arranged the story in his
mind that he could look back on these events with an unhealthy pride. Of
his accomplice he saw but little. They met, of course, in the business
of the class; they received their orders together from Mr. K----.