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Updated: May 16, 2025
Then Falloden's astonishing letter and offer of funds, based on Radowitz's report itself the echo of a couple of letters from Paris had encouraged the starving dreamer to go on.
For the first time she knew that this had been no mere game she had been playing with Douglas Falloden. Just as Falloden in his careless selfishness might prove to have broken Otto Radowitz's life, as a passionate child breaks a toy, so she had it in her power to break Falloden.
The touch of his father's still warm body brought him back to the plain, tragic fact. He raised himself on his elbow to look again at the dead face. The handsome head with its grizzled hair was resting on Radowitz's coat. Falloden could not bear it. He took off his own, and gently substituted it for the other. And as he laid the head down, he kissed the hair and the brow.
And in one solid phalanx, they charged, six or seven strong, up Radowitz's staircase. But he was ready for them. The oak was sported, and they could hear him dragging some heavy chairs against it. Meanwhile, from the watchers left in the quad, came a loud cough. "Dons! by Jove! Scatter!" And they rushed further up the staircase, taking refuge in the rooms of two of the "raggers."
As she listened indeed to his agitated report on Radowitz's injuries, after the first verdict of the London surgeons, Connie had been conscious of a kind of moral terror. In the ordinary man of the world, such an incident as the Marmion ragging of a foreign lad, who had offended the prejudices of a few insolent and lordly Englishmen, would have merely stirred a jest.
Radowitz's eyes contracted so that Sorell could make nothing out of them. "I really can't remember," said the lad's weary voice. "There's been a lot of rowing lately." "Who made the row?" "What's the good of asking questions?" The speaker turned irritably away. "I've had such a lot of beastly dreams all night, I can't tell what happened, and what didn't happen.
And the day after the inquest on Sir Arthur, he had had some conversation on the medical points of his father's case, and on the light thrown on them by Radowitz's evidence, with the doctor who was then attending Lady Laura, and had, it appeared, been several times called in by Sorell during the preceding weeks to see Radowitz and report on the progress of the hand.
"How do you do? We've been having the most divine music! Next Wednesday? Oh, yes, I remember!" And as she recovered her hand from Falloden, she drew it across her eyes, as though trying to dispel the dream in which Radowitz's playing had wrapped her. Then the hand dropped, and she saw the drawing-room door closing on the player.
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