He tore up his own handkerchief and made a pad of his sister's, but these were not enough. "Look here, Rebecca," he said; "you'd better go and leave us." "Nonsense!" said the lady sternly. "Go on with your work, and then a doctor must be fetched." "Very well, then, if you will stay. There, don't try to revive him yet. Let's finish. Guest, my lad, take that knife and slit one of the sheets in the next room; then tear off a bandage four inches wide and as long as you can. Let's stop the bleeding, and he won't hurt." All was done as he ordered, and the bandage roughly fixed, Stratton perfectly insensible the while. "'Becca, my dear--Guest, my lad," said the admiral huskily. "Never felt so sorry in my life." Then, taking Stratton's hand between both his own, he said, in a low voice, "I beg your pardon, my lad, humbly." "I don't like this long insensibility, Mark," said Miss Jerrold. "No; it's too long. Has he any rum or brandy in the place?" "Yes," said Guest eagerly, and he hurried to the door of the bath-closet, and turned the handle, but it was locked. "How tiresome!" he muttered. "Here, I know." He dropped quickly on one knee by his friend, and thrust a hand into his coat pocket for his bunch of keys; when his hand came in contact with something, which he drew out with an ejaculation, and looked up at Sir Mark. "A pistol!" said the latter, and they stared in each other's eyes, just as Stratton began to show signs of recovery. "Why has he a pistol?" whispered Miss Jerrold; and her brother's whole manner changed. "I was thinking that you ought to have fetched the police at once, my lad," he said; "but it's as well you did not. There are things men like hushed up." "I--I--don't know what you mean," faltered Miss Jerrold, while Guest slowly laid the weapon on the table, looking ghastly pale, and feeling a sensation of heart-sickness and despair. "Plain enough," said the admiral coldly. "There is something more, though, behind. Do you know what?" he cried sternly, as he fixed Guest with his eyes. "On my honour, no, Sir Mark." "It does not matter to us." "But it does, Mark," cried Miss Jerrold piteously; "and I am confused. What does it all mean?" "Heaven and the man himself alone know." "But, Mark, dear; I cannot understand." "Not with this before you plainly stamped," said the admiral bitterly. "Some old trouble--a lady, I suppose--men are all alike--there was an _expose_ imminent, I expect, and he sought a way out of it--the coward's way, and was too great a cur to take aim straight." They all looked down in horror at Stratton, where he lay, to see that he was now sensible to their words, and glaring wildly from face to face. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. THE MAN IS MAD. Stratton rose slowly, and he was evidently confused and not quite able to grasp all that had been going on, till a pang from his injured shoulder spurred his brain. His right-hand went up to the bandage, and he began hastily to arrange his dress.