THE WATERS OF HERCULES. – PART VIII.
CHAPTER XXV. – THE STORY OF THE BROKEN HEART.
"I have unclaspt To thee the book even of my secret soul."
– Twelfth Night.
Gretchen had to look again to make sure that it was indeed Dr Korners. Those were his features and his eyes, but they wore an expression which made him scarcely recognisable; the violence of physical movement and of mental emotion had driven the blood to his face and the fire to his eyes. He looked magnificently fierce, with his clenched white hands and the quick dilation of his fine-cut nostrils.
"Dr Komers!" cried Gretchen.
Even while she spoke, Dr Komers had let go the grasp on his adversary's throat, and had risen from his knees to his feet. He still breathed heavily; his coat was torn, and both his hat and spectacles had fallen off in the struggle.
The Roumanian doctor lay where he had fallen, giving not the smallest sign of life.
"Is he dead?" asked Gretchen, under her breath.
Vincenz bent over him.
"Only stunned, I think;" and he undid the unfortunate Kokovics's collar and loosened his cravat. "Only stunned, and I daresay a good deal bruised."
The unfortunate Kokovics opened his eyes, and looked up drowsily into his enemy's face.
"Am I dead 1 " he inquired, in a feeble whisper.
"I hope not," said Vincenz. "Let us get you to your feet, and we shall see."
"What am I then," asked Kokovics, "if I am not killed?"
"Knocked down – that is all."
"Rather badly knocked down," murmured Kokovics, dreamily. "I have been knocked down before."
"I have no difficulty whatever in believing it," said Vincenz.
"But never quite as badly as this," finished Kokovics.
"Will you be so kind as to get to your feet? You can have my arm if you like."
Kokovics looked a little distrustfully at the arm.
"You will oblige me by making haste," said Vincenz; and the Roumanian struggled from the horizontal to the perpendicular.
He stood looking about him, a most piteous figure, with his long hair hanging over his eyes, and all his spirit crushed out of him.
Nobody spoke for a minute, while Dr Kokovics slowly gathered his senses together. Then he let go Vincenz's arm, and stooped to pick up his wide felt-hat.
"Those hands of yours are like iron hammers," he said sulkily, rubbing his bruised arms with an injured air. He crushed his hat on to his head, and turned to go up the gorge.
"Not quite so fast, if you please," interrupted Vincenz, speaking more in his usual tone. "You do not leave this spot until you have made an ample apology to this lady."
Perhaps it was the vivid recollection of the lawyer's iron fists which induced Dr Kokovics to
