"Hold me back--hold me back!" he yelled. "I'm falling--falling--falling!

Is there no help--my G.o.d--no help! Help! Help! Help!"

Ellison put down the candle and ran towards him.

"Murkard, what on earth does this mean? Pull yourself together! You're all right!"

But the man took no notice. He only drew himself further into his corner and clutched at the woodwork of the wall.

"Don't come near me," he cried; "for pity's sake, don't come near me!

You're shaking me, you're loosening my hold, and I shall fall!" His voice went up to a shriek again. "I shall fall! I'm falling, falling, falling! Help! Help! Help!"

Again and again he shrieked. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet, tottered to and fro, and next moment fell forward unconscious. At the same moment Ellison heard a footstep behind him. Looking round he saw Merton standing in the doorway.

"What is the matter with him?" he asked. "Can I be of any a.s.sistance?"

"D. T., I'm afraid. And a pretty bad case, I think. What can we do?"

"Get him on to his bed, I should say, and send for the doctor."

"Well, let's try."

Between them they picked him up and carried him to his bed. Having laid him there, Ellison said:

"Would you mind staying with him for a minute while I send a hand across to the settlement for the medico?"

"Go ahead, I'll watch him."

Ellison went out and left them alone together. As soon as the door had closed upon him Merton leaned over the bed and looked fixedly at the man stretched upon it.

"Yes," he said, when he had finished his scrutiny, "I thought I couldn't be mistaken. It's the very man himself. This is getting interesting. My friend,--what do you call yourself? Oh, Murkard--when you recover your wits again you'll have a little surprise in store for you. In the meantime I've got to play my cards carefully, or that fool may suspect."

Five minutes later Ellison returned. Merton turned to him.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Watch him till the doctor comes. Don't you stay. Go to bed and try to forget all about him."

"Sure I can be of no use?"

"Certain."

"Then I think I will take your advice and say good-night!"

"Good-night!"

As he went across to the house Merton smiled to himself.

"Forget him? When I forget him may my right hand forget its cunning. No, no, my friend, you and I have a score to settle before we can forget! In the meantime Diplomacy must be my watchword."

CHAPTER X.

DELIRIUM--A RECOGNITION--A DEPARTURE AND A RETURN.

Many times during Murkard's illness Ellison found cause to bless Merton's coming. Not only was his cheerful nature calculated to counteract the horrors of the patient's delirium, but without being asked he took upon himself the invalid's work and made himself invaluable in the store. He was a clever fellow, able to turn his hand to anything; and before he had been a week in the house he had brought himself to be looked upon as quite a member of the family. His singing was a great source of delight to both his host and hostess. Esther, in particular, seemed never tired of listening to him, and it was noticeable that when she was in his audience he sang his best. But he was more than a talented musician, he was a clever talker, had read everything that was worth reading, and boasted a most capacious memory.

He could recite, conjure, and ventriloquise better than most professionals, and however hard he might have been working during the day, when evening came he always exerted his talents to please. Once or twice he had volunteered to sit with Murkard, but Ellison could not be brought to permit it. He was afraid to leave them alone together, lest by any chance Murkard should let slip something which it would be inadvisable the other should know. He need not have worried himself, however, for even in his worst delirium Murkard was singularly reticent about the station affairs. Once or twice he spoke of his own past history, but only in the vaguest fashion. His main delusion seemed to be that he had done somebody a grievous wrong by not speaking out on a certain subject, and on this he harped continually.

"You _must_ tell him!" he would reiterate times out of number. "He will never find it out otherwise. You _must_ tell him!" A pause. "Oh, coward!

coward! coward! Have you fallen so low?"

Ellison racked his brains to discover the meaning of this constant self-accusation, but in vain. At times he thought it referred to himself, but what had Murkard to tell him that could cause him so much pain. Then he would ascribe it to some detail of his past, but it was too real and recent for that. In the silence of the night, with only the moan of the waves on the beach, the monotonous voice would cry:

"You _must_ tell him! He is suffering so. He will never find out otherwise. Oh, coward! coward! coward! Have you fallen so low?"

Once or twice Ellison tried to question him. But it was of little or no use. Only on one occasion could he get anything approaching a clear response from him.

"What is it, old man," he asked, directly the sick man had completed his customary speech, "that you must tell? Can I help you?"

Murkard leaned out of his bed and took his friend by the wrist. His eyes were still strangely bright, and his face was hard set as flint.

"Tell him," he almost hissed, "tell him at once and save his soul. D'you think I haven't watched--aye, watched day and night. The man must be saved, I tell you, and for her sake! For her sake, don't you hear, you fool, you dolt, you ninny? Can't you understand Queen's English when you hear it?" He dropped his voice to a whisper. "The man must be saved for the woman's sake, and the woman for the man's, and both for the child's.

Three in one, and one in three. Isn't that plain enough? G.o.d help you if you can't see it as plainly as I can!"

Ellison put the next question with almost a tremble in his voice:

"Who is the man, old friend? Tell me, and let me help you with your trouble."

Murkard picked at the counterpane with quivering fingers.

"In the Hebrew he is called Abaddon, but the Greek hath it Apollyon, ribbed with chains of fire and hung about with chains of gold, silver, and ivory. I wish you could see it as I see it.

"'Her folded wings as of a mighty eagle, But all too impotent to lift the regal Robustness of her earth-born strength and pride.'

It's a pity that you don't understand Queen's English. I don't know exactly that I do myself, because you see my head's a little queer. When I want to think I have to pull my brains round from the back of my head, so to speak. And that's very painful,"--a pause,--"painful for you, dear love, but total extinction for me. I must go away for your honour's sake, don't you see, out into the lonely world. But it really can make no possible difference. _Ich hab' Dich geliebt und liebe Dich noch._

"'I loved thee once, I love thee still, And, fell this world asunder, My love's eternal flame would rise 'Midst chaos, crash, and thunder.'

'Chaos, crash, and thunder!' Cuthbert, you fool, why didn't you trust me from the very beginning?"

"Trust you about what, old friend?"

Murkard lay back on the pillows again with a sigh.

"You'll excuse me, sir, but I don't think I have the pleasure of your acquaintance.... My lord, I grant you circ.u.mstances are against me, but I give you my word----Bah, what's my word worth? I tell you I am not a thief. Guilty, or not guilty? If I plead not guilty it must all come out, and her reputation will be gone forever." He sat up in bed and called with a loud voice: "Guilty, my lord!"