"I beg your pardon, Mal. I'm excited, too. I'm awfully sorry,
though, old man. But tell me," he cried, changing his manner. "Those
letters--that glass? Great Heavens! You were never going to be such a
madman, such an idiot, as to--Oh, say it was all a mistake!"

"That I should have been a dead man by this?" said Stratton solemnly.
"That was no mistake," he murmured piteously. "What is there to live
for now?"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE WEDDING DAY.

Four weeks had passed since Malcolm Stratton's insane attempt--four
weeks of an utterly prostrating illness from which he was slowly
recovering, when, one morning, Guest entered the room where Brettison
was seated by his friend's couch, and made an announcement which wrought
a sudden change in the convalescent.

"I expected it," he said quietly; and then, after a pause, "I will go
with you."

Guest opened and shut his mouth without speaking for a few moments.
Then:

"Go--with me? You go with me? Why, it would be madness."

"Madness, madness, old fellow," said Stratton feebly, "but I tell you I
am quite strong now."

"Very far from it," said Brettison.

"And I say so too," cried Guest. "Look here, old fellow, do you mean to
assert that you are _compos mentis_?"

"Of course," said Stratton, smiling.

"Then I say you are not," cried Guest, "and Mr Brettison will second
me. You are weak as a rat in spite of all our watching, and feeding,
and care."

"All this long, weary month," sighed Stratton. "Heaven bless you both
for what you have done."

"Never mind about blessings; be a little grateful to Mr Brettison, who
has been like a hundred hospital nurses rolled into one, and give up
this mad idea."

"But it is not mad," pleaded Stratton. "I only want to go to the
church. I am quite strong enough now. I want to see her married, that
is all. Mr Brettison, you see how calm I am."

"Yes, very," said the old botanist, smiling sadly. "Calm with your
temples throbbing and your veins too full. My dear boy, if you go to
that wedding, you will over-excite yourself and we shall have a serious
relapse."

"If I do go?" said Stratton quietly. "I shall certainly have it. I
mean to go."

He rose from the couch on which he had been lying, walked into the
bedroom, and closed the door.

"Did you ever see such a mule, Mr Brettison?" cried Guest as soon as
they were alone. "I was a fool to come in and tell him I was going; but
I thought he had got over