"Ha!—to do what?"
"To write—to reveal all to her."
The hardy complexion of Ferrers grew livid; his brow became dark with a terrible expression.
"Do so, and fall the next day by my hand; my aim in slighter quarrel never erred."
"Do you dare to threaten me?"
"Do you dare to betray me? Betray one who, if he sinned, sinned on your account—in your cause; who would have secured to you the loveliest bride, and the most princely dower in England; and whose only offence against you is that he cannot command life and health?"
"Forgive me," said the Italian, with great emotion,—"forgive me, and do not misunderstand; I would not have betrayed /you/—there is honour among villains. I would have confessed only my own crime; I would never have revealed yours—why should I?—it is unnecessary."
"Are you in earnest—are you sincere?"
"By my soul!"
"Then, indeed, you are worthy of my friendship. You will assume the whole forgery—an ugly word, but it avoids circumlocution—to be your own?"