"Egad! it's the devil sent that fiend to torture me so. It's all about, I suppose," exclaimed Sir Jekyl, with a gasp. "Unlucky! The stupid old fribble, to think of his going off with his story to that Pharisaical old tattler!"
"I do not say, Jekyl Marlowe, that I regret your illness. You have to thank a merciful Providence that it is unattended with danger; and it affords an opportunity for reflection, which may, if properly improved, lead to some awakening of conscience--to a proper estimate of your past life, and an amendment of the space that remains. I need hardly add, that an amended life involves reparation, so far as practicable, to _all_ whom you or, in your interest, _yours_ may have injured.
"I wish you were in a deep pond, you plaguy old witch. That fellow, Herbert Strangways--Varbarriere--he's been talking to her. I know what she means by all that cant."
Then he read over again the passages about "your victim," and "General Lennox," your "friend and guest." And he knocked on the table, and called as well as he could--"Tomlinson," who entered.
"Can't say, Sir Jekyl, please, sir--'avn't saw him to-day."
"Just see, please, if he's in the house, and let him know that I'm ill, but very anxious to see him. You may say _very_ ill, do you mind, and only wish a word or two."
"Don't care if he strikes me again. I've a word to say, and he _must_ hear it," thought Sir Jekyl.
But Tomlinson returned with the intelligence that General Lennox had gone down to the town, and was going to Slowton station; and his man, with some of his things, followed him to the Marlowe Arms, in the town close by.
In a little while he called for paper, pen, and ink, and with some trouble wrote an odd note to old General Lennox.
"You must hear me. By ----," and here followed an oath and an imprecation quite unnecessary to transcribe. "Your wife is innocent as an angel! I have been the fiend who would, if he could, have ruined her peace and yours. From your hand I have met my deserts. I lie now, I believe, on my death-bed. I wish you knew the whole story. The truth would deify her and make you happy. I am past the age of romance, though not of vice. I speak now as a dying man. I would not go out of the world with a perjury on my soul; and, by ----, I swear your wife is as guiltless as an angel. I am ill able to speak, but will see and satisfy you. Bring a Bible and a pistol with you--let me swear to every answer I make you; and if I have not convinced you before you leave, I promise to shoot myself through the head, and save you from all further trouble on account of