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Page 67
"Is this Dr. Pitts's house?"
Bennett's reply was drowned in the clamour of the dog, but the other
seemed to understand, for he answered:
"I'm looking for Mr. Ferriss--Richard Ferriss, of the Freja; they told
me he was brought here."
Kamiska stopped her barking, sniffed once or twice at the man's trouser
legs; then, in brusque frenzy of delight, leaped against him, licking
his hands, dancing about him on two legs, whining and yelping.
Bennett came forward, and the man changed his position so that the light
from the half-open front door shone upon his face.
"Why, Adler!" exclaimed Bennett; "well, where did you come from?"
"Mr. Bennett!" almost shouted the other, snatching off his cap. "It
ain't really you, sir!" His face beamed and radiated a joy little short
of beatitude. The man was actually trembling with happiness. Words
failed him, and as with a certain clumsy tenderness he clasped Bennett's
hand in both his own his old-time chief saw the tears in his eyes.
"Oh! Maybe I ain't glad to see you, sir--I thought you had gone away--I
didn't know where--I--I didn't know as I was ever going to see you
again."
Kamiska herself had been no less tremulously glad to see Adler than was
Adler to see Bennett. He stammered, he confused himself, he shifted his
weight from one foot to the other, his eyes danced, he laughed and
choked, he dropped his cap. His joy was that of a child, unrestrained,
unaffected, as genuine as gold. When they turned back to the veranda he
eagerly drew up Bennett's chair for him, his eyes never leaving his
face. It was the quivering, inarticulate affection of a dog for its
master, faithful, submissive, unquestioning, happy for hours over a
chance look, a kind word, a touch of the hand. To Adler's mind it would
have been a privilege and an honour to have died for Bennett. Why, he
was his chief, his king, his god, his master, who could do no wrong.
Bennett could have slain him where he stood and Adler would still have
trusted him.
Adler would not sit down until Bennett had twice ordered him to do so,
and then he deposited himself in a nearby chair, in as uncomfortable a
position as he could devise, allowing only the smallest fraction of his
body to be supported as a mark of deference. He remained uncovered, and
from time to time nervously saluted. But suddenly he remembered the
object of his visit.
"Oh, but I forgot--seeing you like this, unexpected, sir, clean drove
Mr. Ferriss out of my mind. How is he getting on? I saw in the papers he
was main sick."
"He's dead," said Bennett quietly.
Adler was for the moment stricken speechless. His jaw dropped; he
stared, and caught his breath.
"Mr. Ferriss dead!" he exclaimed at length. "I--I can't believe it." He
crossed himself rapidly. Bennett made no reply, and for upward of five
minutes the two men sat motionless in the chairs, looking off into the
night. After a while Adler broke silence and asked a few questions as to
Ferriss's sickness and the nature and time of his death--questions which
Bennett answered as best he might. But it was evident that Bennett,
alive and present there in the flesh, was more to Adler than Ferriss
dead.
"But _you're_ all right, sir, ain't you?" he asked at length. "There
ain't anything the matter with you?"
"No," said Bennett; looking at him steadily; then suddenly he added:
"Adler, I was to blame for Mr. Ferriss's death. If it hadn't been for me
he would probably have been alive to-night. It was my fault. I did what
I thought was right, when I knew all the time, just as I know now, that
I was wrong. So, when any one asks you about Mr. Ferriss's death you are
to tell him just what you know about it--understand? Through a mistake I
was responsible for his death. I shall not tell you more than that, but
that much you ought to know."
Adler looked at Bennett curiously and with infinite amazement. The order
of his universe was breaking up about his ears. Bennett, the
inscrutable, who performed his wonders in a mystery, impenetrable to
common eyes, who moved with his head in the clouds, behold! he was
rendering account to him, Adler, the meanest of his subjects--the king
was condescending to the vassal, was admitting him to his confidence.
And what was this thing he was saying, that he was responsible for
Ferriss's death? Adler did not understand; his wits could not adjust
themselves to such information. Ferriss was dead, but how was Bennett to
blame? The king could do no wrong. Adler did not understand. No doubt
Bennett was referring to something that had happened during the retreat
over the ice--something that had to be done, and that in the end, and
after all this lapse of time, had brought about Mr. Ferriss's death. In
any case Bennett had done what was right. For that matter he had been
responsible for McPherson's death; but what else had there been to do?
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