“You have told me again and again you were content to be my friend. Go back to the quarters, and I’ll watch myself. I have no one here I can trust!”
Bart’s face worked as they slowly returned along the corridor, and rage and pain were marked in turn upon his features.
As they reached the place where he set down his lantern, he stood in a bent attitude, as if pondering upon the words which had been said.
“Why are you waiting?” said the captain, imperiously.
“Them words o’ yours,” said Bart. “You said you could kill me.”
“As I would have done,” was the fierce reply, “if harm had befallen him!”
“Better it had!” said Bart, bitterly. “Better it had, and you’d killed me. Saved you from pain, and me from a life of misery. Am I to go?”
“Yes,” said the captain, less firmly, as the man’s tones betrayed the agony of his spirit. “Go; I have no one now whom I can trust!”
“Don’t say that to me,” said the poor fellow, hoarsely, as he fell upon his knees and clasped his hands. “Kill me if you like, captain, but don’t doubt me. All these years I’ve done nothing but try and serve you faithful and well.”
“And you would have slain the man I love!”