"Rot!" said Tollemache.
"But what can we do? He is committing suicide."
"One must do that occasionally. It's rotten, but it can't be helped."
Christobal threw out his hands in a despairing gesture. "I tried to
stop him, but I failed," he cried.
"Courtenay is a hard man to stop," said Tollemache, vanishing down the
companion. The Spaniard was left alone on the bridge. He paced to and
fro, deep in thought. He scarce dared probe his own communings. So
complex were they, such a queer amalgam of noble fear and base
expectation, that he could have cried aloud in his anguish. Big drops
of perspiration stood on his forehead when Courtenay came to him.
"For God's sake, don't go," said he hoarsely. "Do you know you are
placing me on the rack?"
"Your sufferings are of your own contriving, then. Why, man, there is
no reason for all this agony. I have written to Elsie, briefly
explaining matters. Here is the letter. Give it to her, if I don't
return. And now, pull yourself together. I want you to cheer her.
Above all things, don't let her know I am leaving the ship. I'll just
swing myself overboard at the last moment.
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