"Villain and fool!" said Bartley, "these trifles do not trouble me now. If Hope and my dear Mary are found dead in that mine, I'll tell how they came by their death, and I'll die by my own hand."
Monckton said nothing, but looked at him keenly, and began at last to feel uneasy.
"A shaft is but a narrow thing," Bartley rejoined; "why should they be buried alive? let's get to them before they are starved to death. We may save them yet."
"Why, you fool, they'll denounce us!"
"What do I care? I would save them both to-night if I was to stand in the dock to-morrow."
"And swing on the gallows next week, or end your days in a prison."
"I'd take my chance," said Bartley, desperately. "I'll undo my crime if I can. No punishment can equal the agony I am in now, thanks to you, you villain."
Then turning on him suddenly, and showing him the white of his eyes like a maniac, or a dangerous mastiff, he hissed out, "You think nothing of the lives of better men; perhaps you don't value your own?"
"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Monckton. "That's a very different thing."
"Oh, you do value your own foul life?"