But he _was_ there. Olva's brain slowly cleared and, for the first time for many weeks, he was entirely himself. It was the first moment of peace that he had known since that hour in St. Martin's Chapel.
He was quiet, collected, perfectly calm. He went over to the window, opened it, and rejoiced in the breeze. The room seemed suddenly empty. Five minutes ago it had been crowded, breathless. There was now only Bunning.
"It was so awfully hot with that enormous fire," he said.
Bunning's condition was peculiar. He sat, his large fat face white and streaky, beads of perspiration on his forehead, his hands gripping the sides of the armchair. His boots stuck up in the most absurd manner, like interrogation marks. He watched Olva's face fearfully. At last he gasped--
"I say, Dune, you're ill. You are really--you're overdone. You ought to see some one, you know. You ought really, you ought to go to bed." His words came in jerks.
Olva crossed the room and stood looking down upon him.
"No, Bunning, I'm perfectly well. . . . There's nothing the matter with me. My nerves have been a bit tried lately by this business, keeping it all alone, and it's a great relief to me to have told you."
The fact forced itself upon Bunning's brain. At last in a husky whisper: "You . . . killed . . . Carfax?" And then the favourite expression of such weak souls as he: "Oh! my God! Oh! my God!"
"Now look here, don't get hysterical about it. You've got to take it quietly as I do. You said the other day you'd do anything for me. . . . Well, now you've got a chance of proving your devotion."
"My God! My God!" The boots feebly tapped the floor.
"I had to tell somebody. It was getting on my nerves. I suppose it gives you a kind of horror of me. Don't mind saying so if it does."
Bunning, taking out a grimy handkerchief, wiped his forehead. He shook his head without speaking.
Olva sat down in the chair opposite him and lit his pipe.
"I want to tell somebody all about it. You weren't really, I suppose, the best person to tell. You're a hysterical sort of fellow and you're easily frightened, but you happened to come in just when I was rather worked up about it. At any rate you've got to face it now and you must pull yourself together as well as you can. . . . Move away from the fire, if you're hot."