In
vain I told him that we need not change for dinner; he said he must, and
wouldn't be comforted.
"How is Jack?" I asked at last; "why didn't he come with you?"
He looked at me for a moment with an expression of the deepest grief,
and then said quietly, "Jack is dead."
"_Dead?_" I almost shouted. "Jack dead! You can't mean it!"
But he only repeated sadly, "Jack is dead," and walked on.
It seemed incredible; Jack, whom we had seen a few weeks before so full
of life and vigour, Jack, who had ridden with us, played tennis, and
been the leading spirit at our rat hunts, it was too horrible to think
of!
I felt quite stunned, but the sight of the poor old man who had lost his
only child roused me.
"I am more sorry than I can say," I ventured; "it must be a terrible
blow to you."
"Thank you," he said; "you, who knew him well, can realise it more than
any one; but it was all for the best--I felt that when I did it."
"Did what?" I inquired, thinking that he was straying from the point.
"When I shot him through the head," he replied laconically, as if it
were the most natural thing in the world.
If he had suddenly pointed a pistol at _my_ head I could not have been
more astonished; I was absolutely petrified with horror, for the thought
flashed into my brain that Jack's father must be mad!
His peculiar expression had aroused my curiosity at the station, and his
next remark confirmed my suspicion.
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