“Move aside, or—”
A coarse, insulting laugh drowned Daly's words, and he pulled the trigger; but the pistol snapped without exploding.
“There it is, now,” cried the fellow, rudely; “luck's against you, old boy, so you 'd better keep yourself cool and easy;” and with these words he uncocked the weapon and replaced it in his bosom. Daly watched the moment, and with a bound placed himself beside him, when, bringing his leg in front, he caught the man round the middle, and hurled him headlong on the ground.
He fell as if he had been shot; but, rolling over, he leaned upon his elbow and looked up, without the slightest sign of passion or even excitement on his features.
“I 'd know that trip in a thousand; begad, you 're Bagenal Daly, and nobody else!”
Although not a little surprised at the recognition, Daly suffered no sign of astonishment to escape him, but drew his chair to the fire, and stretched out his legs before the blaze. Meanwhile, the other, having arisen, leaned over the back of a chair, and stared at him steadfastly.
“I am as glad as a hundred-pound note, now, you did n't provoke me to lay a hand on you, Mr. Daly,” said he, slowly, and in a voice not devoid of a touch of feeling; “'t is n't often I bear malice, but I 'd never forgive myself the longest day I 'd live.”
Daly turned his eyes towards him, and, for some minutes, they continued to look at each other without speaking.
“I see you don't remember me, sir,” said the stranger, at length; “but I 've a better memory, and a better reason to have it besides: you saved my life once.”
“Saved your life!” repeated Daly, thoughtfully; “I 've not the slightest recollection of ever having seen you before.”