He occupied the time he was left alone not in
thinking--there was nothing to think about; he simply had to
tell a few facts--but in trying to make a sling for his
broken arm. The trouble was in the elbow-joint, and as long
as he kept this motionless he could go on as usual. But
inflammation was beginning, and the slightest jar gave him
agony. The sling was not fitted before Gino leapt up the
stairs, crying--
"So you are back! How glad I am! We are all waiting--"
Philip had seen too much to be nervous. In low, even
tones he told what had happened; and the other, also
perfectly calm, heard him to the end. In the silence
Perfetta called up that she had forgotten the baby's evening
milk; she must fetch it. When she had gone Gino took up the
lamp without a word, and they went into the other room.
"My sister is ill," said Philip, "and Miss Abbott is
guiltless. I should be glad if you did not have to trouble them."
Gino had stooped down by the way, and was feeling the
place where his son had lain. Now and then he frowned a
little and glanced at Philip.
"It is through me," he continued. "It happened because
I was cowardly and idle. I have come to know what you will do."
Gino had left the rug, and began to pat the table from
the end, as if he was blind. The action was so uncanny that
Philip was driven to intervene.
"Gently, man, gently; he is not here."
He went up and touched him on the shoulder.
He twitched away, and began to pass his hands over
things more rapidly--over the table, the chairs, the entire
floor, the walls as high as he could reach them.
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