fury. "Do it again! You will, won't you! You'll go—and meddle again in other people's—youcu-cu-cursed officious"—But his rage was spent—the paroxysm was over; the silent and bleeding figure of Huckaback was before his eyes; and he gazed at him, terror-stricken. What had he done! He sunk down on the bed beside Huckaback—then started up, wringing his hands, and staring at him in an ecstasy of remorse and fright. It was rather singular that the noise of such an assault should have roused no one to enquire into it; but so it was. Frightened almost out of his bewildered senses, he closed and bolted the door; and addressed himself, as well as he was able, to the recovery of Huckaback. Propping him up, and splashing cold water in his face, Titmouse at length discovered symptoms of revival, which he anxiously endeavoured to accelerate, by putting to the lips of the slowly-awakening victim of his violence some cold water, in a teacup. He swallowed a little; and soon afterwards, opening his eyes, stared on Titmouse with a dull eye raid bewildered air.
"What's been the matter?" at length he faintly enquired.
"Oh, Hucky! so glad to hear you speak again. It's I—I—Titty! I did it! Strike me, Hucky, as soon as you're well enough! Do—kick me—any thing you choose! I won't hinder you!" cried Titmouse, sinking on his knees, and clasping his hands together, as he perceived Huckaback rapidly reviving.
"Why—what is the matter?" repeated that gentleman, with a wondering air, raising his hand to his nose, from which the blood was still trickling. The fact is, that he had lost his senses, not so much from the violence of the injuries he had received, as of the suddenness with which they had been inflicted.
"I did it all—yes, I did!" continued Titmouse, gazing on him with a look of agony and remorse.
"Why—I can't be awake—I can't!" said Huckaback, rubbing his eyes, and then staring at his stained shirt-front and hands.
"Oh, yes, you are—you are!" groaned Titmouse; "and I'm going mad as fast as I can! Do what you like to me! Lick me if you please! Call in a constable! Send me to gaol! Say I came to rob you—any thing—I don't care what becomes of me!"
"Why—what does all this jabber mean, Titmouse?" enquired Huckaback sternly, apparently meditating reprisals.
"Oh, yes, I see! Now you are going to give it me! I won't stir. So hit away, Hucky."
"Why—are you mad?" enquired Huckaback, grasping him by the collar rather roughly.
"Yes, quite! Mad!—ruined!—gone to the devil all at once!"
"And what if you are? What did it matter to me? What brought you to me, here?" continued Huckaback, in a tone of increasing vehemence. "What have I done to offend you? How dare you come here? And at this time of night, too? Eh?"
"What, indeed! Oh lud, oh lud, oh lud! Kick me, I say—strike me! You'll do me good, and bring me to my senses. Me to do all this to you! And we've been such precious good friends always. I'm a brute, Hucky—I've been mad, stark mad, Hucky—and that's all I can say."
Huckaback stared at him more and more; and began at length to suspect how matters stood—namely, that the Sunday's incident had turned Titmouse's head—he having also, no doubt, heard some desperate bad news during the day, smashing all his hopes. A mixture of emotions kept him silent. Astonishment—apprehension—doubt—pride—pique—resentment. He had been struck—his blood had been drawn—by the man there before him on his knees, formerly his friend, now, he supposed, a madman.
"Why, curse me, Titmouse, if I can make up my mind what to do to you!" he exclaimed. "I—I suppose you're going mad, or gone mad, and I must forgive you. But get away with you—out with you, or—or—I'll call in"
"Forgive me—forgive me, dear Hucky! Don't send me away—I shall go and drown myself if you do."
"What the d—l do I care if you do? You'd much better have gone and done it before you came here. Nay, be off and do it now, instead of blubbering here in this way."
"Go on! Hit away—it's doing me good—the worse the better!" sobbed Titmouse.
"Come, come—none of this noise here. I'm tired of it."
