"
Saying which, Mr. Chichester seated himself upon the mouldering
remains of an ancient wherry, and slipped one hand into the bosom of
his coat.
"Sir," said he, leaning towards Barnabas, "you appear to be hurt,
but you are not--dying, of course?"
"Dying!" repeated Barnabas, lifting a hand to his aching brow,
"dying,--no."
"And yet, I fear you are," sighed Mr. Chichester, "yes, I think you
will be most thoroughly dead before morning,--I do indeed." And he
drew a pistol from his pocket, very much as though it were a
snuff-box.
"But before we write 'Finis' to your very remarkable career," he
went on, "I have a few,--a very few words to say. Sir, there have
been many women in my life, yes, a great many, but only one I ever
loved, and you, it seems must love her too. You have obtruded
yourself wantonly in my concerns from the very first moment we met.
I have always found you an obstacle, an obstruction. But latterly
you have become a menace, threatening my very existence for, should
you dispossess me of my heritage I starve, and, sir--I have no mind
to starve. Thus, since it is to be your life or mine, I, very
naturally, prefer that it shall be yours.
Pages:
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661