"Well, then, as your old chum--the man who has stuck to you and is going to stick to you all through this hobble into which you have got yourself--don't you think it would be as well to make a clean breast of it--to me?" Stratton's eyes dilated as he spoke, and his look was so strange that Guest involuntarily prepared himself for some outbreak. "You can trust me," continued Guest, and he saw a look of despair come into his friend's countenance. "Come, old chap, what's the use of a friend if he is not to help you? You know I want to." Stratton's lips parted in an almost inaudible, "Yes." "Well, then, for poor Myra's sake." Stratton started as if he had been stung. "I can't help hurting you, and I repeat--for her sake. She is a woman. She loves you." "For pity's sake, don't, don't," groaned Stratton in a voice full of unutterable anguish. "She loves you, I say," continued Guest firmly; "and, whatever has been the cause of this madness, she will forgive you." Stratton shook his head slowly. "But I say she will. Come, we are none of us perfect. I tell you I am fighting for you now as well as myself. Your act this morning injures Edie and me too. So take it like this, old fellow. You have done wrong in some way; is not an attempt to make amends the first step toward showing repentance?" "You don't know--you don't know," groaned the wretched man. "Not yet; you will not be open. Come now, be frank with me. In your utter despair, consequent upon your nerves being weak with mental worry, you used that pistol." Stratton buried his face in his hands. "The old man was right," continued Guest; "it was a cowardly way to get out of the difficulty. Let me help you. Come, once more, make a clean breast of it." Stratton's hands fell again, and there was an eager look in his face; his lips parted and he was about to speak, but the look faded away and in a despondent, weary way he sank back once more. "Very well. I will not press you now," said Guest. "You'll think better of it, old fellow. I'll wait. Now, then, let me help you into your room." "What for?" cried Stratton suspiciously. "Because a wounded man must be better lying down." "So that you can lock me in and go for people--for doctors?" "He is queer," thought Guest. "The cunning of a man off his head." As he thought this he rose, walked to the bedroom door, opened it, and took the key out to hand to his friend. "There, are you satisfied? Look here, Mal, even to better you I will not play any treacherous trick like that?" "I believe you," said Stratton quietly; and he waved away the hand holding the key. "So far, so good, then. Will you come and lie down while I fetch a doctor?" "No. I will not have a doctor. It is a mere scratch." "Very well. Come and sit down, then." Stratton shook his head. "Invalids must be humoured, I suppose. Sit where you are then, and try and have a nap. You'll be calmer afterward--I hope," he added to himself.