"Me!" cried the boy, in utter horror.
"I can obtain evidence of the fact," continued the Colonel, and paused. "You had better think twice before you enter the lists with me and attempt to thwart my will."
The boy, thus kneeling, did not reply, but buried his face in his hands, and his flowing hair hid those hands with its luxurious waves. He shook in every nerve with agony. He sobbed aloud.
"Will you be quiet?" the Colonel seized him roughly by the shoulder, "or shall I throttle you?"
"Yes, kill me, fiend, kill me, oh! kill me with one blow:" the boy raised his face, and pronounced these words, his eyes flashing with hatred, as he uttered the word "fiend." There was something startling in the look of mortal hatred which had so suddenly fixed itself upon that beautiful face. Even the Colonel was startled.
"Nay, nay, my child," he said in a soothing tone, "get up, get up, that's a dear child—I meant no harm—"
At this moment the conversation was interrupted by a hollow voice.
"You must pay, sir. That's my way.—You must pay or you must go."
The business-like nature, the every-day character of these words, was in painful contrast with the hollow accent which accompanied their utterance. At the sound the boy sprang to his feet, and the Colonel started as though a pistol had exploded at his ear.
The merchant prince had risen into a sitting posture. His thin features, low, broad forehead, wide mouth, with thin lips and pointed chin, were thrown strongly into view by the white cravat which encircled his throat. Those features were bathed in moisture. The small eyes, at other times half concealed by heavy lids, were now expanded in a singular stare,—a stare which made the blood of the Colonel grow cold in his veins.