Five Tales | Page 5

feeling of something out beyond the
light, and without turning his head said: "What's that?" There came a
sound as if somebody had caught his breath. He turned up the lamp.

"Who's there?"
A voice over by the door answered:
"Only I--Larry."
Something in the tone, or perhaps just being startled out of sleep like
this, made him shiver. He said:
"I was asleep. Come in!"
It was noticeable that he did not get up, or even turn his head, now that
he knew who it was, but waited, his half-closed eyes fixed on the fire,
for his brother to come forward. A visit from Laurence was not an
unmixed blessing. He could hear him breathing, and became conscious
of a scent of whisky. Why could not the fellow at least abstain when he
was coming here! It was so childish, so lacking in any sense of
proportion or of decency! And he said sharply:
"Well, Larry, what is it?"
It was always something. He often wondered at the strength of that
sense of trusteeship, which kept him still tolerant of the troubles,
amenable to the petitions of this brother of his; or was it just "blood"
feeling, a Highland sense of loyalty to kith and kin; an old- time quality
which judgment and half his instincts told him was weakness but which,
in spite of all, bound him to the distressful fellow? Was he drunk now,
that he kept lurking out there by the door? And he said less sharply:
"Why don't you come and sit down?"
He was coming now, avoiding the light, skirting along the walls just
beyond the radiance of the lamp, his feet and legs to the waist brightly
lighted, but his face disintegrated in shadow, like the face of a dark
ghost.
"Are you ill, man?"
Still no answer, save a shake of that head, and the passing up of a hand,
out of the light, to the ghostly forehead under the dishevelled hair. The
scent of whisky was stronger now; and Keith thought:
'He really is drunk. Nice thing for the new butler to see! If he can't
behave--'
The figure against the wall heaved a sigh--so truly from an
overburdened heart that Keith was conscious with a certain dismay of
not having yet fathomed the cause of this uncanny silence. He got up,
and, back to the fire, said with a brutality born of nerves rather than
design:

"What is it, man? Have you committed a murder, that you stand there
dumb as a fish?"
For a second no answer at all, not even of breathing; then, just the
whisper:
"Yes."
The sense of unreality which so helps one at moments of disaster
enabled Keith to say vigorously:
"By Jove! You have been drinking!"
But it passed at once into deadly apprehension.
"What do you mean? Come here, where I can see you. What's the
matter with you, Larry?"
With a sudden lurch and dive, his brother left the shelter of the shadow,
and sank into a chair in the circle of light. And another long, broken
sigh escaped him.
"There's nothing the matter with me, Keith! It's true!"
Keith stepped quickly forward, and stared down into his brother's face;
and instantly he saw that it was true. No one could have simulated the
look in those eyes--of horrified wonder, as if they would never again
get on terms with the face to which they belonged. To see them
squeezed the heart-only real misery could look like that. Then that
sudden pity became angry bewilderment.
"What in God's name is this nonsense?"
But it was significant that he lowered his voice; went over to the door,
too, to see if it were shut. Laurence had drawn his chair forward,
huddling over the fire--a thin figure, a worn, high- cheekboned face
with deep-sunk blue eyes, and wavy hair all ruffled, a face that still had
a certain beauty. Putting a hand on that lean shoulder, Keith said:
"Come, Larry! Pull yourself together, and drop exaggeration."
"It's true; I tell you; I've killed a man."
The noisy violence of that outburst acted like a douche. What was the
fellow about--shouting out such words! But suddenly Laurence lifted
his hands and wrung them. The gesture was so utterly painful that it
drew a quiver from Keith's face.
"Why did you come here," he said, "and tell me this?"
Larry's face was really unearthly sometimes, such strange gleams
passed up on to it!
"Whom else should I tell? I came to know what I'm to do, Keith? Give

myself up, or what?"
At that sudden introduction of the practical Keith felt his heart twitch.
Was it then as real as all that? But he said, very quietly:
"Just tell me--How did it come about, this--affair?"
That question linked the