“What do you mean by that?” cried the other, turning fiercely round, and bending over the back of the chair, with a look of menace. “What do you mean by too much or too little?”
“This has lasted quite long enough,” said Frank, rising slowly from the bed. “I foresee little benefit to either of us from protracting it further.”
“You think you have me now, Mr. Dalton,” said Meekins, with a sardonic grin, as he placed his back against the door of the cell. “You think you know enough, now, as if I wasn't joking all the while. Sure what do I know of your family or your estate except what another man told me? Sure I've no power to get back your property for you. I 'm a poor man, without a friend in the world,”—here his voice trembled and his cheek grew paler; “it is n't thinking of this life I am at all, but what's before me in the next!”
“Let me pass out,” said Frank, calmly.
“Of course I will, sir; I won't hinder you,” said the other, but still not moving from the spot. “You said awhile ago that I told you too much or too little. Just tell me what that means before you go.”
“Move aside, sir,” said Frank, sternly.
“Not till you answer my question. Don't think you're back with your white-coated slaves again, where a man can be flogged to death for a look! I 'm your equal here, though I am in prison. Maybe, if you provoke me to it, I 'd show myself more than your equal!” There was a menace in the tone of these last words that could not be mistaken, and Frank quickly lifted his hand to his breast; but, quick as was the gesture, the other was too speedy for him, and caught his arm before he could seize the pistol. Just at this critical moment the key was heard to turn in the lock, and the heavy door was slowly opened. “There, take my arm, sir,” said Meekins, slipping his hand beneath Frank's; “You 're far too weak to walk alone.”
CHAPTER XXXVII. A FENCING-MATCH.
“You came in time,—in the very nick, Mr. Gray,” said Frank, with a quiet smile. “My friend here and I had said all that we had to say to each other.”