"No, Ned Harris, I will do nothing of the kind. It is I who have wronged you and yours; you must take the offensive; I will play a silent hand."
"You refuse to fight me?"
"I do refuse to fight you, but do not refuse to give you satisfaction for what wrong you have suffered. Take my life, if you choose; it is yours. Take it, or forever after this consider our debt of hatred canceled, and let us be—"
"Friends? Never, Justin McKenzie, never! You forget the stain dyed by your hand that will never washout!"
"No! no! God knows I do not forget!" and the youth's voice was hoarse with anguish. "Could it be undone, I would gladly undo the deed. But, tell me, Harris about her. Does she still live?"
"Live? We-l-l, yes, if you can call staying living. Life is but a blank; better she had died ere she ever met you!"
"You speak truly; better she had died ere she met me."
Unconsciously the two had ridden closer to each other; had they forgotten themselves in recalling the past?
"She lives—may live on her lonely life for years to come," Harris resumed, thoughtfully, "but her life will be merely endurance."
"Will you tell me where—where I can go in secret and take but one look at her? If you will do this, I will agree to meet you and give you your chance for satis—"