At length I was on the point of rising, when a strained hideous screech broke from the figure beside me and I saw him sway up, kneeling, and totter sideways against the wall of hay. With the sound of his voice I sprung to my feet--and there was the pursuer, come silently round the corner of the stack, and gazing with gloating eyes upon his victim. CHAPTER XXXIX. A STRANGE VIGIL. Had Jason fainted, as I thought he had, his enemy would have been upon him before I was aware of his presence even. As it was, in an instant I had interposed my body between them. For a full minute, perhaps, we remained thus, like figures of stone, before I found my voice. “You can go back,” I said, never taking my eyes off him. “It’s too late.” He gave no answer, nor did he change his position. “I won’t appeal to you,” I said, “by any claim of old friendship, to leave this poor wretch in peace. If common humanity can make no way with you, how shall any words of mine?” He made a little sidling movement, to which I corresponded with a like. “You’re welcome to measure your strength with mine,” I said. “You’ll have to do it before you can think to get at him.” He looked at me with glittering eyes, as if debating my power to stop him. “Duke!” I cried, “be merciful! If his crime was great, he has repented.” He spoke at last, screwing out an ugly high little chuckle, with a straining of his whole body, like a cock crowing. “Why, so have I!” he said. “There’s a place waiting for the two of us among the blessed saints, while she’s frying down below.” “It was hers to forgive, and she has forgiven, I know. Be merciful and worthy of her you are to meet some day.” “What can I do more disinterested, then, than send him repentant to sit with her. There’s a noble revenge to take! If he’d stopped in London I’d have allowed him a little longer, perhaps; but, as he wants to escape, I must make sure, or the devil might have me by the leg, you see.” All the time we spoke, Jason was cowering among the hay, his breath sounding in quick gasps. Now he gave out a pitiful moan, and Duke bent his head waiting for a repetition, as if it were music to him. “For the last time, be merciful, Duke.” “Well, so I will.” He spoke looking up at me, with his head still bent sideways, and, in that position, felt in one of his pockets. “If the gentleman will condescend to take this,” he said, standing suddenly erect and holding out a little white paper packet in his hand, “I will go and welcome. But I must see him swallow it first.” “Poison?” “Not at all. A love potion--nothing more.” Duke stole toward me insidiously, holding out the paper. The moment he was within reach I struck it out of his hand. While my arm was yet in the air, he came with a rush at me--caught his foot in a projecting root--staggered and fell with a sliding thump upon the grass.