David shivered.
"I am not likely to forget that night," he said. "What I swore we both know. Well? I have begun to keep my word. You know that."
"Aye, and to-night you'll finish it!" Vont cried, with uplifted head. "After to-night you'll be quit of your oath, and you can go free of me. I've made it all easy for you. It's all planned out."
"I must finish what I have to say," David insisted. "It's been on my mind like lead. He's a ruined man, uncle—beggared to the last penny. I've dishonoured myself, but I've done it—for your sake. Beyond that I cannot go."
"You cannot go?" Vont muttered blankly.
"I cannot. I don't know what this scheme of yours is, uncle, but leave me out of it. I'm in Hell already!"
"You think—"
Vont was breathing heavily. The words suddenly failed him, his fingers seemed to grip the air. David had a momentary shock of terror. Then, before he could stop him, the old man was down upon his knees, holding him by the legs, his upraised face horrible with a new storm of passion.
"David, you'll not back out! You'll not break that oath you swore when I lent you the money—all my savings! And it might have gone wrong, you know. It might have beggared me. But I risked it for this! You don't know what I've been through. I tell you there isn't a night, from darkness till nigh the dawn, I haven't toiled with these hands, toiled while the sweat's run off my forehead and my breath's gone from me. And I've done it! I've made all ready for you—and to-night—it's to-night, boy! If you go back on me, David, as sure as that Book's the truth, you shall know what it is to feel like a murderer, for I'll sit and face you, and I'll die! I mean it. As God hears me at this moment, I mean it. If you falter to-night, you shall find me dead to-morrow, and if it blackens my lips, I'll die cursing you as well as him—you for your softness because they've flattered you round, him because he still lives, with the wrong he did me unpunished."
David dragged him up by sheer force and pushed him back into his chair.