"Buck up, Horace! All is fair in love and war!"
Within twenty-four hours I had asked for and obtained the transfer which caused so much surprise and comment—for I was afraid I would kill him if I remained near him.
Arriving home, I threw myself heart and soul into the work of reconstruction—the building up of features destroyed, which made me world famous. But what cared I for notoriety or honors! With a strength and concentration of effort almost beyond my own understanding, the wonderment of my colleagues, I worked feverishly with little or no rest—I did the work of a dozen men—and little did they suspect I was working to save my reason!
My life was a hell! Ugly black thoughts constantly tortured my brain when I was idle, and my sleep of exhaustion was a succession of frightful nightmares, in which the tormenting demon invariably took the likeness of Selwyn Morris! I had to work, work or succumb!
Upon several occasions, distorted vision showed him to me in the street crowds; and once I followed for hours to locate his abode—only to learn upon cautious inquiry that he was still in France. At another time, the face upon which I was working suddenly became his face, and for the first time in my life my nerve almost deserted me—I finished by will power alone.
I knew these were delusions, fantasies of a mentality strained almost to the breaking point, and I feared the time when I should have to face him—the outcome made me shudder, even though my heart was filled with hatred.
With the end of the war came news of Selwyn's return, and from that hour I dared not trust myself on the public streets. I motored from my apartment to the hospital, there to remain until evening; then, behind drawn curtains, I rode home and shut myself up until midnight. At that hour, when there was no likelihood of meeting him, I walked for one hour in a place he had never been known to frequent—the park. As time passed, I gradually lost my fear—I felt it would be possible to avoid him forever—then, upon a secluded path, in the pale, ghostly moonlight, I met him.
Facing each other, separated only by a few feet, he smiled and extended his hand. I was astounded to find my mind clear and my nerves quiet—that I experienced none of the feelings I had anticipated.
"Horace, old man," he said with deep feeling, "I heard that you took your exercise here every night, and I have come to ask your forgiveness."
"For what?" I asked calmly.
"For—for—" he faltered, then exclaimed: "Truly, old man, I knew nothing of your interest in Margaret until I had asked her to marry me! Do you believe me?"
"Of course I do, Wyn!" I cried, clasping his hand warmly. "I'll admit I was pretty hard hit at first. But she never told me she cared for me, so there was nothing in the way of her accepting you. I've buried it, Wyn, and I wish both of you every happiness!"
"Gad, Horace! That's the best news I've ever heard!" he exclaimed joyously. "We were dreadfully cut up about you, and now you have removed the only drawback to our complete happiness! How glad she will be! She's an angel, Horace, if there ever was one on earth!"
For a moment emotion choked me, and I was thankful the shadow of the shrubbery hid the shudder which convulsed me.
"I know she is, old fellow," I managed to say a trifle hoarsely. "But come, you are going home with me—I've a little old Scotch left, and I haven't forgotten how you like it!"
THOUGH he protested at the lateness of the hour, I led him away to the apartment we had for several years shared in common.
As I saw him seated in the chair which had once been his favorite, a great wave of joy surged over me, and I turned hastily to prepare his drink, lest he notice my agitation. As I added the white crystals which were to place him entirely in my power, my hand shook; but I steeled myself, and when I faced him, there was no outward sign of the fierce fires burning within me.
"To her, Wyn!" I cried, raising my glass. "May she live long to enjoy her happiness!"
We drank, and I seated myself, my eyes fixed gloatingly upon him. He was mine—mine! My heart sang it—the little clock on the mantel ticked it. Mine—mine! Mine—mine! Mine—mine! No power of heaven or hell could tear him from me!
"—like old times!" I heard-him murmur drowsily, attempting to arise. "Wish I could stay, old chap—pretty—late. Eetta will wonder—I—I—feel little queer—better go—come back—come—come—"
His voice died away like a clock running down, and he sank back in the chair.
"At last—at last!" I grated, looking down at him. "You and I are going to have a long delayed settlement, Selwyn Morris!"
Stripping off my coat, I took the limp form in my arms as though he was a child and half ran through the rooms to the distant laboratory. My plans had long been worked out to the smallest detail, so there was no hesitation now. Hastily removing his clothing, I strapped him to the table and made my preparations with the sureness and care I would have observed in the hospital.
Little anesthetic was necessary, and I was soon at work. A few well-placed sutures gave his eyes a slight oriental slant; one here, one there, and his curved eyebrows were almost straight; an incision and a little careful moulding made the nose decidedly aquiline; a small portion of cuticle removed, and a running stitch gave a cleft to the chin; two stitches in just the right place made the ears stand from the head; and, then, my crowning feat!
After long experiment upon the lower animals, I had succeeded in injecting, by means of a specially made hair-like hypodermic needle, pigment into the retina, thereby changing the color of the eye! This I now did on my first human patient, and rejoiced when the gray changed to seal brown!
Deftly applying adhesive dressing, I placed him in bed and threw myself into a chair by his side, where I remained the rest of the night and the succeeding day, holding him every minute under the influence of the benumbing drug. The moment I had prayed for, planned and waited patiently for had come at last! I reveled in a delirium of ecstasy, without any sense of drowsiness or fatigue! At times I could scarcely believe, and many times reached out to touch the plaster-strapped face, to convince myself it was not a dream!
For three days I kept him unconscious, snatching sleep in the chair by the bedside; and every one of those days I laughed at the uproar I knew his disappearance must be causing! I could imagine the theories of the police—foul play, suicide, accident! And all the time he was snoring away in his old bed! Is it any wonder I laughed! I would laugh still more when I had finished with him and turned him out into the world! This would be my masterpiece, and what a pity no one would ever know!
