The night had
been a very trying one for her ladyship. She gave way to tears.
"It is all your fault, Dick," she reproached him.
" Naturally you would blame me," he said with resignation - the
complete martyr.
"If only you had been ready at the time, as he told you to be,
there would have been no delays, and you would have got away
before any of this happened."
"Was it my fault that I should have reopened my wound - bad luck to
it! - in attempting to get down that damned ladder?" he asked her.
"Is it my fault that I am neither an ape nor an acrobat? Tremayne
should have come up at once to assist me, instead of waiting until
he had to come up to help me bandage my leg again. Then time would
not have been lost, and very likely my life with it." He came to a
gloomy conclusion.
"Your life? What do you mean, Dick?"
"Just that. What are my chances of getting away now?" he asked her.
"Was there ever such infernal luck as mine? The Telemachus will
sail without me, and the only man who could and would have helped
me to get out of this damned country is under arrest. It's clear I
shall have to shift for myself again, and I can't even do that for
a day or two with my leg in this state.
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