I hated riding
his horse, but it would have meant open disgrace if I hadn't. She knew
it was urgent. And then at the last moment I was thirsty; I overdid it.
No; confound it, I'll tell you the truth! I went home drunk, too drunk
to sit a horse. And so she--she sent me to bed, and went in my place.
That's the thing she wouldn't tell you, the thing Hyde knew. She always
hated the man--always. She only endured him for my sake." He broke off.
Baring was looking at him as if he thought that he were raving. After a
moment Ronnie realized this. "It's the truth," he said. "I've told you
the truth. I never won the cup. I didn't know anything more about it
till it was over and she told me. I don't wonder you find it hard to
believe. But I swear it's the truth. Now let me go--and shoot myself!"
He flung round distractedly, but Baring stopped him. There was no longer
any hardness about him, only compassionate kindness, as he made him sit
down, and gravely shut the door. When he spoke, it was not to utter a
word of reproach or blame.
"No, don't go, boy!" he said, in a tone that Ronnie never forgot. "We'll
face this thing together. May God help us both!"
And Ronnie, yielding once more, leaned his head in his hands, and burst
into anguished tears.
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