The Potter and the Clay: A Romance of Today

by Maud Howard Peterson

  *VIII.*

  The assistant walked slowly, adapting himself to Trevelyan’s haltingsteps, and he braced his arm against the weight Trevelyan had thrownupon it. He did not speak again, and Trevelyan did not question himfurther.

  Trevelyan’s big frame reeled across the threshold, when, after whatseemed to him an interminable time, the assistant led him into the roomwhere Stewart lay. He caught himself up immediately, however, andstared at the group around the bed. The Colonel was there and one ofthe older officers, and Mackenzie was leaning over something long andstill that lay stretched on the bed. The dead weight suddenly increasedon Vaughan’s arm and he winced with the pain. The two officers near thefoot of the bed turned at the shuffling footsteps and Mackenzie lookedup for an instant. Then he went back to feeling Stewart’s pulse, andwithout glancing around again, spoke quietly to his assistant.

  "The other syringe—this doesn’t work just right."

  The assistant went away and returned with the syringe. Trevelyan wasleft standing alone in the middle of the room. No one noticed him. Hewaited until the hypodermic stimulant had been administered andMackenzie had straightened himself from his stooping position over thebed. Then he came forward, and pushed his way past the Colonel and theofficer and Vaughan and Mackenzie, and leaned over the bed.

  "John," he said.

  The head turned on the pillow slowly, and Stewart looked up at him. Hemade an almost imperceptible motion of recognition with his head.

  "You sent for me?"

  "Yes," Stewart said, weakly.

  Trevelyan remained motionless, and no one spoke. The Colonel, at thefoot of the bed, stirred a little.

  Stewart’s hot hands drew the covering up between his fingers and crushedit with a sudden strength, born of a terrible agony. He turned his eyesto Mackenzie.

  "If you could get me more on my side—that’s better."

  Mackenzie leaned over him.

  "Don’t try to talk to Trevelyan just yet," he suggested.

  "I must. If you’d all leave us for a little—"

  "You won’t wait?"

  Stewart looked straight into Mackenzie’s eyes.

  "There’s no waiting; there’s no ’yet’—is there?" he asked.

  Mackenzie stared at the covering on the bed.

  "You’re pretty sick," he said, very slowly, and he tried to saysomething else, but the words refused to come.

  He turned and went out of the room and Vaughan and the officers followedhim.

  Trevelyan still remained motionless.

  "Have they gone?" Stewart asked, looking up at him, "I can’t turn myhead to see."

  "They’ve gone," said Trevelyan.

  "Then sit down on the edge of the bed—carefully, if you can; jars hurt.I’ve a good deal to say and the time’s short—Mackenzie will be backbefore long."

  "You want to give me messages?"

  "No," said Stewart, "It’s about yourself. Why were you afraid?"

  The lump in Trevelyan’s throat broke, and something of the old strengthcame back then.

  "It was Cary," he said, hoarsely.

  "I thought so. It was a risky thing to have tried, though—thatshooting. It might have gone deeper, or someone else might have seenyou."

  "You—saw—me—then?"

  "_You—saw—me—then?_"]

  Stewart nodded. Speaking was exquisite torture.

  "Do you realize what you’ve done—that you’ve broken your life—"

  Trevelyan sat motionless on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on apoint of the pillow. The agony of the night before had been as nothingto this.

  "You were an officer and you were afraid of danger—you! And you werecoward enough to be willing to send another man to his death—" the youngengineer broke off, breathing with labor. "You were willing to let medie. Did you think that would make it easier to win Cary?"

  Then Trevelyan spoke.

  "It’s all true," he said, speaking so slowly that each word fell uponthe deathly stillness in the room, like the slow thud of earth upon acoffin, "It’s—all—true——but that! I was afraid and I was all you say,coward enough to let another man die or suffer as you are suffering now;and I’ve dishonored the Service and I’ve broken my life, but before God,I didn’t know that you’d be sent in my place. As for Cary—"

  "For Cary," said Stewart, "and for your father and my mother you’re toswear to me to hold your tongue over this business. It’s like you to goand blurt the whole thing out, but you’re to swear you won’t open yourlips on the subject—ever; and you’re to resign your commission in theService as soon as it’s possible without exciting suspicion."

  Trevelyan drew back; his throat pulsing. There was the old, oddthrobbing in his head, and the dimness of vision, too. After awhile themist passed.

  "God! man, but you’re hard!"

  "I’m kind to the home people, and I’m just with you—am I not?"

  "Yes; oh, yes; but to bear it in silence—never to be able to meet one ofthe men of the mess without the dead haunting shadow of it on me; toleave the Service—that’s the worst of all—never to be able to fight forEngland again as a soldier, or redeem myself—as a man!"

  He rose from the bed and went over to the opposite wall, flinging hisbent arm against it and leaning forward, his face hid. Stewart watchedhim from the bed, his eyes reflecting a great pity. If Trevelyan knewhalf of what his judgment cost him! If Trevelyan only knew how gladlyhe was dying in his stead! If only Trevelyan knew that he was more kindthan cruel!

  Through the window, into the absolute quiet of the room, came thehurrying of feet and the neighing of horses. The Colonel was sendingout a squad of armed men to strike to the heart of the native trouble.Somewhere in the distance a bugler was playing.

  Trevelyan turned, his back to the wall, his arms flung out.

  "Isn’t there any other way?"

  Stewart struggled to a reclining position, supporting himself on onearm, and he summoned all his love and all his mercy.

  "You injured me," he said. "Mackenzie says I can’t pull through theday—but if I should, I’m injured for life. I have a right to judge you.There is no other way."

  The music of the bugle rose, and swelled, and then melted away.

  Trevelyan came back to the bed—passive!

  "I’ll swear anything you ask."

  Then a little later:

  "Am I to tell Cary?"

  "You are to tell Cary or not, as you want to," said Stewart, looking athim curiously.

  "Is there nothing I can say to Cary for you—when—when I—get back toEngland?"

  Stewart shook his head. The weakness he had fought against so long cameback, as did the agony.

  "Nothing; but that I thought of her—of them all. Can you reach thatwater? Ah!"

  Trevelyan flung himself down by the bed.

  "You shan’t slip off this way!" he said, tensely, the pain of his owncrushed life disappearing before the thought of Stewart’s ebbing one.

  Stewart did not hear him.

  "Call Mackenzie," he said, shortly, "Call Mackenzie—quick!"