Violet Jacob > Flemington

202
FLEMINGTON
attracted by the recurrent name of Logie which
ran through the disconnected babblings, rising
again and again like some half-drowned object
carried along a swift stream. The darkness made
every word seem more distinct.
“ Listen to me!” cried Flemington. “ Logie !
Logie 1 you do not understand ... it is safe ... it
is burnt! Nobody shall know it from me. ... I
cannot take your money, Logie ... I will tell
you everything, but you will not understand.. . .”
The beggar was holding his breath.
“ I did not guess it was Inchbrayock ... I
thought it would not be Inchbrayock! Logie, I
will say nothing . . . but I will tell you all.
For God’s sake, Logie, ... I swear it is true!...
Listen. . . .”
Skirling Wattie could hear him struggling as
though he were fighting for his life.
“Not to Ardguys ... I cannot go back to
Ardguys! I shall never tell . . . never, never
tell . . . but I shall know where you are! They
shall never know. Ah /” cried Archie, raising his
voice like a man in distress calling for help, “ it is
you, Logie ! . . . My God, let me go !”
The beggar dragged himself nearer. The frag¬
ment of moon did no more than turn the chinks
and cracks of the barn to a dull grey, and he
could hardly see the outline of his companion.
The nightmares that were tormenting Archie
pointed to something that must have happened
before he came by his hurt, and the injury and
the chill had produced these light-headed wander-