The incoherent fragments of speech were panted rapidly out; scarce pausing for breath, he looked once more upward at Erceldoune; with the old unquenched hatred still burning dark in his glance.
"You will have the Vassalis' fief! Ah! that cuts harder than the sabre. I would give twenty lives now to keep you asunder from her. But—she stung my memory; conscience, fools call it; I could not free her without freeing you, or I would have done. You hate me?"
"I pity you—beyond all words."
"Because I lie here like a shot cur?"
"No. Because you wronged her."
There was a meaning in the grave and weary answer that checked the fretting and galled passions of the dying man.
"Yes, I wronged her. It was for Julian's wealth that I hated her. Sir—you swore to deal me my mortal stroke. Keep your oath. Pluck that broken steel out of my loins; I shall not live a minute. You will not? Why, you break your vow! Christ!—how the pain burns! Look here, then!"
With a sudden movement he drew the blade out from the wound in which it was bedded; the pent-up blood, let loose, poured from it: he smiled. It
