"Sick almost unto death," said Stratton hoarsely. The old man rose and crossed to an old brass-bound cellarette, which he opened. "No, no," cried Stratton excitedly; "go on, man, go on. You are torturing me. Let me know the worst--or the best," he cried with a bitter laugh. "Ought I to wish his life to be saved, and, know that I am not a murderer?" "A man is no murderer who slays another in defence of his own life," said Brettison calmly, getting out an old spirit decanter and glasses. "Leave that," cried Stratton, pushing away the glass his friend placed before him. "Go on--go on!" "No," said Brettison sternly; "you need the stimulus now." "Man, have you no feeling for me at such an anguish point as this?" "Man, have you no feeling for one who is old and infirm, and who has shortened his poor share of life in his efforts to save you from the misery of your lot?" "Forgive me," groaned Stratton. "I am not what I was, Brettison." "No man could go through such a crucial passage in his life and come out the same," was the quiet reply. "There, drink that. I do not indulge in these things, as you know; but I am faint, and it is hard work to collect one's thoughts." He poured out two little glasses of the contents of the old decanter, and drank one--Stratton, whose temples were throbbing, and whose hand trembled in a palsied way, following his example. "Now," he said, "go on. I am in misery." "You must know all. I must tell it in my own way, for my mind is confused all through with doubts as to whether I was right in keeping you in ignorance of all this. I did not see it before; I do see it now." He looked upon Stratton's worn and aged face with a look full of pity and compunction. "I acted for the best, my boy," he said--"I acted for the best; but I feel that I have been, in my zeal, half-mad. Still at such a time a man cannot be cool-blooded, and act as he would after longer thought." Then, as he saw Stratton's hands raised: "The doctor came, saw the patient, and made his examination carefully, ending by applying proper bandages to the wound, while Barron lay perfectly insensible, only uttering a low moan now and then, as if he felt pain when touched; otherwise he lay quite calmly, as if asleep. "And as the doctor busied himself he asked no questions; but, as if he were influenced by my thoughts as I stood by him, watching him and waiting to give him a garbled--there, a lying--version of the incident, he at last took the very view as I wished to convey it to him by words. "`A bad case, sir,' he said at last. `I can do no more now. The bullet is evidently deeply imbedded. I will not take the risk of probing for it. Shall I get one of our eminent specialists in consultation?' "I shook my head. "`Fatal?' I said at last. "He shrugged his shoulders.