"No, sir," said the other, "but he's all smashed." They brought him in and laid him on his bed. I sent one of the party for the doctor at Viking, and myself set to work, with what appliances I had, to deal with the dreadful injuries. When the doctor came, together we made him into the semblance of a man again. His face was but slightly injured, though his head had received severe hurts. I think that I alone saw the marks on his throat; and I hid them. I guessed the cause, but held my peace. I had sent round at once to James Devlin (but asked him not to come till morning), and also to Mrs. Falchion; but I begged her not to come at all. I might have spared her that; for, as I afterwards knew, she had no intention of coming. She had learned of the accident on her way to Viking, and had turned back; but only to wait and know the worst or the best. About midnight I was left alone with Roscoe. Once, earlier in the evening, he had recognised me and smiled faintly, but I had shaken my head, and he had said nothing. Now, however, he was looking at me earnestly. I did not speak. What he had to tell me was best told in his own time. At last he said faintly: "Marmion, shall I die soon?" I knew that frankness was best, and I replied: "I cannot tell, Roscoe. There is a chance of your living." He moved his head sadly. "A very faint chance?" "Yes, a faint one, but--" "Yes? 'But'?" He looked at me as though he wished it over. "But it rests with you whether the chance is worth anything. If you are content to die, it is gone." "I am content to die," he replied. "And there," said I, "you are wrong and selfish. You have Ruth to live for. Besides, if you are given the chance, you commit suicide if you do not take it." There was a long pause, and then he said: "You are right; I will live if I can, Marmion." "And now YOU are right." I nodded soothingly to him, and then asked him to talk no more; for I knew that fever would soon come on. He lay for a moment silent, but at length whispered: "Did you know it was not a fall I had?" He raised his chin and stretched his throat slightly, with a kind of trembling. "I thought it was not a fall," I replied. "It was Phil's pal--Kilby." "I thought that." "How could you--think it? Did--others--think so?" he asked anxiously. "No, not others; I alone. They thought it accident; they could have no ground for suspicion. But I had; and, besides, there were marks on your throat." "Nothing must happen to him, you understand. He had been drinking, and --and he was justified. I wronged him in Samoa, him and Mrs. Falchion." I nodded and put my fingers on my lips. Again there was silence. I sat and watched him, his eyes closed, his body was motionless. He slept for hours so, and then he waked rather sharply, and said half deliriously: "I could have dragged him with me, Marmion." "But you did not. Yes, I understand. Go to sleep again, Roscoe."