Witness to the Deed Part 20

"Edie?" said Stratton again as he sat there trembling as if smitten by some dire disease.

"Yes. You told me you were going to tell her of your success--to ask the admiral to give you leave to speak to her."

"No, no," said Stratton slowly.

"Are you mad, or have you been drinking?" cried Guest angrily, and he caught his friend by the shoulders.

"Don't--don't, Percy," said Stratton feebly. "I'm not myself to-night.

I--I--Why did you come?" he asked vacantly.

"Because it was life or death to me," cried Guest. "I couldn't say a word to you then, but I've loved little Edie ever since we first met.

You were my friend, Mal, and I couldn't say anything when I saw you two so thick together. She seemed to prefer your society to mine, and she had a right to choose. I've been half-mad to-day since you told me you cared for her, but I couldn't sleep till I knew all the worst."

"I told you I loved Edith Perrin?"

"Yes! Are you so stupefied by what you have taken that you don't know what you are saying?"

"I know what I am saying," said Stratton, almost in a whisper. "I never told you that."

"I swear you did, man. You don't know what you say."

"I told you I was going to see the admiral. All a mistake--your's-- mine," he gasped feebly.

"What do you mean?" cried Guest, shaking him.

"I always liked little Edie, but it was Myra I loved."

"What?" cried Guest wildly.

"I spoke to her father to-day, plainly, as--as--an honest man. Too late, old fellow; too late."

"Too late?"

"She is engaged--to be married--to the admiral's friend."

"Barron?"

"Yes."

"I thought as much. Then it was all a mistake about Edie!" cried Guest wildly. "I beg your pardon, Mal. I'm excited, too. I'm awfully sorry, though, old man. But tell me," he cried, changing his manner. "Those letters--that gla.s.s? Great Heavens! You were never going to be such a madman, such an idiot, as to--Oh, say it was all a mistake!"

"That I should have been a dead man by this?" said Stratton solemnly.

"That was no mistake," he murmured piteously. "What is there to live for now?"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE WEDDING DAY.

Four weeks had pa.s.sed since Malcolm Stratton's insane attempt--four weeks of an utterly prostrating illness from which he was slowly recovering, when, one morning, Guest entered the room where Brettison was seated by his friend's couch, and made an announcement which wrought a sudden change in the convalescent.

"I expected it," he said quietly; and then, after a pause, "I will go with you."

Guest opened and shut his mouth without speaking for a few moments.

Then:

"Go--with me? You go with me? Why, it would be madness."

"Madness, madness, old fellow," said Stratton feebly, "but I tell you I am quite strong now."

"Very far from it," said Brettison.

"And I say so too," cried Guest. "Look here, old fellow, do you mean to a.s.sert that you are _compos mentis_?"

"Of course," said Stratton, smiling.

"Then I say you are not," cried Guest, "and Mr Brettison will second me. You are weak as a rat in spite of all our watching, and feeding, and care."

"All this long, weary month," sighed Stratton. "Heaven bless you both for what you have done."

"Never mind about blessings; be a little grateful to Mr Brettison, who has been like a hundred hospital nurses rolled into one, and give up this mad idea."

"But it is not mad," pleaded Stratton. "I only want to go to the church. I am quite strong enough now. I want to see her married, that is all. Mr Brettison, you see how calm I am."

"Yes, very," said the old botanist, smiling sadly. "Calm with your temples throbbing and your veins too full. My dear boy, if you go to that wedding, you will over-excite yourself and we shall have a serious relapse."

"If I do go?" said Stratton quietly. "I shall certainly have it. I mean to go."

He rose from the couch on which he had been lying, walked into the bedroom, and closed the door.

"Did you ever see such a mule, Mr Brettison?" cried Guest as soon as they were alone. "I was a fool to come in and tell him I was going; but I thought he had got over it, and he knew it was to-day."

"You are going as one of the friends?"

"Yes, Miss Jerrold asked me," said Guest, rather consciously; "and of course he would have known afterward, and reproached me for not telling him. What is to be done?"

"Certainly not thwart him," replied Brettison. "I was going out into the country to-day."

"Collecting?"

"Yes, my dear sir, a little. My great hobby, Mr Guest. But I will not go. We should do more harm than good by stopping him, so I'll go to the church with him."

"But I dread a scene," said Guest. "Suppose he should turn wild at seeing her lead up the aisle. Fancy the consequences. It would be cruel to the lady. It is not as if she had jilted him."

"Never cared for him a bit, did she?" whispered Brettison.

"H'm! Well, sir, I don't quite like to say. At all events, Miss Myra Jerrold accepted this Mr Barron before poor old Malcolm spoke a word, and I am convinced that she felt certain he did not care for her."