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Chapter 4
Helayashehadfallen,allhuddled,withonekneeupandonearmsprawlingabroad;hisfacehadastrangecolourofblue,andheseemedtohaveceasedbreathing.Fearcameonmethathewasdead;thenIgotwateranddasheditinhisface;andwiththatheseemedtocomealittletohimself,workinghismouthandflutteringhiseyelids.Atlasthelookedupandsawme,andtherecameintohiseyesaterrorthatwasnotofthisworld.
“Come,come,”saidI;“situp.”
“Areyealive?”hesobbed.“Oman,areyealive?”
“ThatamI,”saidI.“Smallthankstoyou!”
Hehadbeguntoseekforhisbreathwithdeepsighs.“Thebluephial,”saidhe—“intheaumry—thebluephial.”Hisbreathcameslowerstill.
Irantothecupboard,and,sureenough,foundthereabluephialofmedicine,withthedosewrittenonitonapaper,andthisIadministeredtohimwithwhatspeedImight.
“It’sthetrouble,”saidhe,revivingalittle;“Ihaveatrouble,Davie.It’stheheart.”
Isethimonachairandlookedathim.ItistrueIfeltsomepityforamanthatlookedsosick,butIwasfullbesidesofrighteousanger;andInumberedoverbeforehimthepointsonwhichIwantedexplanation:whyheliedtomeateveryword;whyhefearedthatIshouldleavehim;whyhedislikedittobehintedthatheandmyfatherweretwins—“Isthatbecauseitistrue?”Iasked;whyhehadgivenmemoneytowhichIwasconvincedIhadnoclaim;and,lastofall,whyhehadtriedtokillme
