She could not make out why Arthur asked these questions.
“Did Mr. Haddo go to the funeral?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I’ve never seen anyone so upset.”
“That’ll do. You can go.”
Susie poured out the tea and handed it to Arthur. To her surprise, he drank it and ate some bread and butter. She could not understand him. The expression of strain and the restlessness which had been so painful, were both gone from his face, and it was set now to a look of grim determination. At last he spoke to them.
“I’m going to see this doctor. Margaret’s heart was as sound as mine.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Do?”
He turned on her with a peculiar fierceness.
“I’m going to put a rope round that man’s neck, and if the law won’t help me, by God, I’ll kill him myself.”
“Mais, mon ami, vous êtes fou,” cried Dr. Porhoët, springing up.
Arthur put out his hand angrily, as though to keep him back. The frown on his face grew darker.
“You must leave me alone. Good Heavens, the time has gone by for tears and lamentation. After all I’ve gone through for months I can’t weep because Margaret is dead. My heart is dried up. But I know that she didn’t die naturally, and I’ll never rest so long as that fellow lives.”
He stretched out his hands and with clenched jaws prayed that one day he might hold the man’s
