Sadie had given up her ambitions and was content to live at the lonely farm because she thought it best for him.  He remembered the bitter disappointments he had brought her and how he had found her sitting, depressed and tired, at his neglected work when he came home from some fresh extravagance.  Sometimes she had met him with the anger he deserved, but as a rule she had shown a patience that troubled him now.  Then there was Helen, who had borne slander and estrangement from her husband for his sake.  Both had made costly sacrifices, of which he was unworthy; but it was unthinkable that the sacrifices should be made in vain.

Perhaps it was his imagination, or the proximity of relief, but the physical torment he suffered got worse.  He could not sit straight, and leaned forward, with head bent and hands grasping the sides of his chair, until he looked at his watch.  Ten minutes had gone, but he must hold out for twenty minutes more.  Fumbling awkwardly in his pocket, he got his tobacco pouch.  He did not want to smoke, but could occupy some time by filling his pipe, and did so with slow deliberation.  Then he let the match go out as an idea dawned on him.  The bottle had been put there with an object.

Wilkinson hated Sadie.  He had struck at her and injured Helen, but had plotted a harder blow.  The plot had, however, miscarried, for Charnock almost forgot his pain in his fury.  The fellow was a dangerous reptile, and could not be allowed to hurt Sadie by his poisonous tricks.  Charnock meant to punish him, but must first overcome the insidious ally the other had counted on.  He looked at his watch again.  A quarter of an hour had gone; he felt stronger, and more confident.  For all that, the fight was stern, and at length Festing, entering quietly, was surprised to find Charnock sitting with his watch in his hand.  His brows were knit; his face looked pinched and damp.

“What are you doing, Bob?” he asked.

“Trying my strength,” said Charnock, who got up.  “Three minutes yet to go, but I think we can take it that I’ve won.”

“I don’t understand.  Is this a joke?”

“Do I look as if I’m joking?” Charnock rejoined, with a forced smile.  “Anyhow, I’d like you to notice that I’m perfectly sober and this bottle has not been opened, although I’ve sat opposite it for nearly half an hour.  I’d have finished the half-hour if you had not come in.”

Festing picked up the bottle and read the writing.  “Who brought the thing here?”

“I suspect Wilkinson.  He knows a drink would stop the pain.”

“Ah,” said Festing quietly.  “I think I understand!  You have made a good fight, Bob, and I believe you’ve won.  But we’ll take precautions; it will be some satisfaction to throw out the stuff.”

He went to the door, but Charnock stopped him.

“Hold on!  I mean to keep the satisfaction to myself.  Give me the cursed thing!”

Festing put the bottle in his hand, and opening the door Charnock swung it round his head and let it go.  There was a crash as it struck a tree, and he went back to his chair.