Part 42 (2/2)

”Yes, yes. Let us be going,” she said, hurriedly. ”Is it dreadfully painful?”

”I hardly feel it when I look into your eyes, darling. And your very voice has a soothing effect.”

She had just been taking him to task for talking to her in this strain, regardless of their compact, but how could she upbraid him now--when he was in this terrible pain--and all for her? Suddenly he reeled giddily, and his face became even more livid; and the perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead. An awful fear gripped her heart. All the grim stories she had heard of deaths from stings and snakebites crowded up.

If this were to prove fatal and he were to die at her feet, having laid down his life for her! At this moment she knew her own heart if she had never done so before. Further self-disguise was useless. This incident had swept away the veil.

”Ah, why did you do it?” cried she, in tones of thrilling anguish. ”I would sooner it had stung me a hundred times! You can hardly walk!

Lean on me. See! I am not such a weak support, after all.”

She had pa.s.sed her arm through his, and, for the moment, felt as strong and determined as even he could have been. All thoughts of prudence and conventionality were scattered to the winds in her awful apprehension.

He was suffering horribly--it might be, even, that his life was in danger.

”Why, how childishly weak I am!” said he, with another forced smile.

”The thing can't hurt so much, after all; hang it, it can't!”

But it did. There was no getting rid of that fact, try as he might to ignore it. Thus they made their way back.

”Look, now, I mustn't make a crutch of you any more. We shall be coming upon the others directly,” said Claverton, as they drew near to the halting-place.

”I don't care if we do,” she replied, fearlessly.

”But I care; and I'm not going to let you do what you might regret afterwards,” rejoined he, sadly, remembering the burden of their conversation at the time of the occurrence.

”Ah, why did you do it?” she repeated. And by that time they were in sight and earshot of the rest of the party.

”Hallo, Arthur! What's up?” asked Mr Brathwaite, noticing his unwonted aspect.

”Nothing much; only a sting. Got any Croft's Tincture?”

”Is it a snake?” inquired the old man, with more alarm in his voice than he intended to betray.

”No; a scorpion.”

The while Mr Brathwaite had been uncorking a small bottle. ”Lucky I didn't change my coat at the last moment this morning. I was as nearly as possible doing so, and this would have been left behind if I had, sure as fate. Now, let's have a look at it.”

An infusion of the healing fluid was applied, and soon the sufferer began to feel perceptibly relieved. The throbbing became less violent, and, although much swollen already, the hand grew no larger. Old Garrett stood by, watching the doctoring process, lecturing the while, his theme the deterioration from its ancestry of the rising generation.

”There,” he was saying, ”I'll be bound that none of you young fellers 'ave any of that stuff with you--and what would you 'ave done without it? We old stagers is always ready for any emergence,” (his auditors presumed he meant emergency)--”always ready. All there, sir; all there?”

”Have you got any of it yourself?” asked the patient, catting him short.

”'Ave I? Well, let's see. No, I 'aven't to-day, but I generally 'ave.”

”Oh!” said the patient, significantly.

”There, you'll do now,” said Mr Brathwaite, tying up the hand with a handkerchief. ”It'll hurt a little for a time, but the swelling will soon go down. But how did it happen?”

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