His
voice began to come in rough, uneven jerks.
"But it can be helped--it must be helped! Don't you see--I came
between you and Lois purposely. From the first moment you spoke of her
I knew that you loved her--and I wanted her. I never gave your
message. I didn't dare. You are the sort of man a woman cares for--a
woman like Lois. I couldn't risk it. But now--well, I'm done, and
afterward she will be free--"
Nicholson drew back stiffly.
"You are talking nonsense," he said, in a colder tone. "No one wants
you to die--and in any case, you know very well we have no chance of
getting through this alive."
Travers seized his arm. His eyes shone with a painful excitement.
"Yes--yes!" he stammered. "You have a chance--a sure hope. I can save
you; I can--atone. That's what I want. Only you must help me. I am a
dying man. I want you to bring me to the Rajah--at once. Only five
minutes with him--that will be enough. Then he will let you go--he
must!"
Nicholson freed himself resolutely from the clinging hands.
"You exaggerate your power," he said, "and, besides, what you ask is
an impossibility."
He turned away, but Travers caught his arm and held him with a
frantic, desperate strength.
"Then if you will not help me--send Miss Cary to me," he pleaded. "I
must speak to her."
Nicholson looked down into the dying face with a new interest. He had
no suspicion of the burden with which Travers' soul was laden, and yet
he was conscious now that the matter was urgent and of an importance
which he could not estimate.
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