"'I'll never rest easy in my grave, James,' said the dying man, 'and
I'll never let you rest easy in your life, until you have avenged me
on my wronger.'
"Your father knelt down and swore. It was a bad, bad death-bed, and a
bad, bad oath. But he took it; and Stephen Dane died, with his brother's
hand clasped in his, and his dying eyes fixed on his brother's face.
"They buried the dead man; and when the sods were piled above him, your
father told me of the vow he had made--the vow he meant to keep. What
could I say? what could I do? I wept woman's tears, I said woman's words.
I pleaded, I reasoned, I entreated--all in vain. He would go, and he
went.
"He followed the guilty pair, like a blood-hound, for weary months and
months. For a long time it seemed as though he must give up the search
as fruitless; but at last, in the open street of a French city, he met
the man Walls face to face. He flew at him like a madman, grasped his
throat, and held him until the man turned black in the face. But he was
lithe, and young, and powerful, and he shook him off at last.
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