I could only conclude, therefore, that the attack was from the Nihilists. The man looked much more like an emissary of that kind—able to give a sudden thrust with a sharp knife; but incapable of doing more. The instant I had come to this conclusion, and I came to it much more quickly than I can write it, I resolved what to do.
"I am glad this encounter has taken place—not omitting the result, of course," I added grimly. "There is no cause whatever for this decree."
The man's lip curled somewhat contemptuously, as I made this protest. He seemed to have formed the average low estimate of the value of my word. Everywhere I turned I was met by the worthlessness of the scamp whose name I now bore. The contempt silenced, even while it angered, me.
"You did not attend," he said curtly. "A man's absence is poor proof of either innocence or courage. You are not only a traitor but a coward."
"What!" I turned on him as if he had struck me.
This puny, pale, insignificant weakling faced me as dauntlessly as if the positions were reversed and I was in his power, not he in mine.
"You are brave enough here now, no doubt—you armed against me unarmed." He threw this sneering taunt at me with deliberate insolence.
I stared at him first in amazement, and then in admiration.
I had but to raise my hand to kill him with a stroke. He read my thoughts.
"What do I care for my life, do you think? Take it, if you like. One murder more—even in cold blood—is a little matter to a soldier."