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Updated: May 20, 2025
Things cannot be any worse than they are. Let me try and make them better. Will you, will you trust me?" Chris's voice quivered, there were tears in her eyes. With a sudden impulse Littimer laid his hands upon her shoulders and looked long and searchingly into her eyes. "Very well," he said, with a gentle sigh. "I will trust you.
The answer was three bullets, but he had drawn back a yard or two before he spoke and was in shelter. The thought of firing again at the wounded man did not enter Chris's mind, and he crawled back to the spot where he had before spoken to Sankey. The latter was looking anxiously up. "Are you all right?" he asked. "Yes." "Well, I wish you would not do it," Sankey said angrily.
Bernard was on Miss Chris's right hand, and on the other side of the table Eugenia's seat separated the general from Aunt Griselda, who sat severely buttering her toast before a brown earthenware teapot ornamented by a raised design of Rebecca at the well.
The thoughts began to race through Chris's brain. He found himself praying with desperate speed that Michael, whoever he was, might not know; and that the King might not remember; and meanwhile through another part of his being ran the thought of the irony of his situation. Here he was, come to plead for his brother's life, and on the brink of having to plead for his own.
Once, when she turned suddenly toward him, in the second entr'acte, she saw a look on Chris's face that gave her an odd second of something like fear, but the house darkened again before she could analyze the emotion, and Norma glued her eyes to the footlights.
A few hours more and but she didn't care to dwell too closely on that. It was after luncheon that Chris's opportunity came. Lord Littimer and Grace Rawlins had gone off to inspect something especially beautiful in the way of a waterfall, leaving Chris and Rawlins alone. The latter was talking brilliantly over his cigarette. "Is Lord Littimer any relation of yours?" he asked.
She turned to him with a radiant smile. "Yes, yes, of course! Should I be likely to forget all old pal like you? Trevor, will you introduce him to Aunt Philippa?" "My friend Mr. Bertrand," said Mordaunt promptly. Mrs. Forest acknowledged the introduction with extreme chilliness. She strongly disapproved of Chris's faculty for developing unexpected friendships.
"Doesn't look as though he could give an ox points on imagination." "He can't. He inherited his money. But he knows enough to hold on to it and hire other men's brains. He is very conservative." "That is to be expected," was Chris's comment. His gaze went back to the man and woman who had been father and mother to the girl beside him.
She knew, too, that she was no longer in love with Clay, because his steady voice over the telephone left her quite calm and unmoved. "I want you to come up, Clay," she said. "If you can, easily." "I can come at once. Is anything wrong?" "Chris has been killed," she replied, and hung up the receiver. Then she sat down to wait, and to watch for Chris's cynical smile to flash in some dusky corner.
An ocean of water smote Chris's back and his clutch on the spokes was loosened as if it were a baby's. Stunned, powerless, like a straw on the face of a torrent, he was swept onward he knew not whither. Missing the corner of the cabin, he was dashed forward along the poop runway a hundred feet or more, striking violently against the foot of the foremast.
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