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Updated: May 3, 2025
And because of that, he continued, "I'm sorry, Zaidos." But Zaidos would not reply. "I'm sorry, Zaidos," Velo said again in his thick, queer whisper. "Will you forgive me?" "No," said Zaidos suddenly. "No, I won't! What did I ever do to you that you should try to take my life? If I said I forgive you it would be a lie. Besides, you can't be sorry right off like that.
He rapidly recounted the happenings of the past from the time the telegram reached him in far America. Several times Helen interrupted with a keen question. When Zaidos finished, she sighed. "Well, John," she said, "as far as I can see, there is not a thing you can take as a real clue. But it all looks queer, just the same. Sometimes everything will happen so things look black.
It was well, for the boy was at the point of exhaustion, and as he felt himself drawn into the boat, he found a sudden darkness settle over everything, and he sank back unconscious into the arms of a doctor. When he opened his eyes, he was in the clean, airy, floating hospital. It took a little thought for Zaidos to recollect where he was. When he did so, he made an effort to arise.
Zaidos looked up at the face, white with cowardice. "Come here!" said Zaidos. Still kneeling he pointed a small but business looking revolver at his cousin's heart. "Come here!" he ordered. Velo obeyed, the look on his face changing from white terror to black hate. Zaidos saw the look, and read it with unconcern. "Come here, Velo!" He held Velo's shifty eyes. "You get to work here.
He had lost almost all the blood in his body, and Zaidos did not dare to move him, nor even shift the weight of the unconscious but living man who laid across the shattered leg. Zaidos felt sure that he would die before Velo returned. And he was still more convinced that the man was at his end when after a few moments of stupor, he opened his eyes quite sanely and looked at Zaidos.
Then he remembered the soft living, the ease and luxury of the house of Zaidos, and remembering that he, as Velo Kupenol, must be all his life nothing but a dependent on his cousin's bounty, he steeled his wicked heart to its self-appointed task. But he must change his tactics. Zaidos as usual was surrounding himself with friends. Velo felt that he must be doubly careful.
As they made formation a smothered groan like a deep breath escaped them. Against the blank wall before them, bound, stood the deserter. Once Zaidos had read a highly colored account of a man who had felt the extremest depth of horror. The book said that he had felt as though his bones were turning to water, and Zaidos had sneered at the description.
It throbbed and he turned and twisted in an effort to find a comfortable position. Velo's head ached splittingly, and he lay staring into the darkness, keeping company ever with the evil thoughts in his heart. He slept finally, however, and did not awake until Zaidos shook him by the shoulder and told him it was time for breakfast.
Everywhere men were sleeping, rolled up in their blankets and lying uncomfortably along the bottom of the trenches or out on the ground under the stars. The boys did not talk. Zaidos was busy thinking of the present, with all its tragic incidents, and occasionally a funny happening to lighten the gloom. He thought of Helen, and wondered how her well-beloved patient was progressing.
Then the newcomer did a strange thing. He cast a swift glance over the sleeping faces, to assure himself that he was not watched, and with the light-fingered stealth of the born thief, he slipped his thin hand into Zaidos' breast pocket. Withdrawing it, he smiled wickedly at the sight of what he held. He rose to his feet, hastily pocketed his find, and for a moment stood looking down at Zaidos.
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