'And yet, I almost regret, Fred,' said the other, speaking in an almost inaudible whisper—'that Sydney is in the grip of the Philistines; my vengeance upon him would have been more terrible than a thousand deaths by hanging. Well, since it is so, let him swing, and be d——d to him!'
A long conversation here followed, but the two men spoke in such a low tone, that Clinton could only hear a word now and then. He was, however, certain as to the identity of Fred Archer; and he determined not to lose sight of that ruffian without endeavoring to have him taken into custody.
At length the two men arose and quitted the temple, followed at a safe distance by the boy.
At the bottom of the marble steps which led to the halls above, Fred Archer and his companion paused for a few moments, and conversed in whispers; then the two parted, the former ascending the steps, while the latter turned and advanced slowly towards Clinton.
The boy instantly started in pursuit of Archer; but as he was about to pass the person who had just quitted the company of that villain, his progress was arrested by a strong arm, and a voice whispered in his ear—'Ah, Kinchen, well met!—come with me!'
Clinton attempted to shake off the stranger's grasp—but he was no match for his adversary, who dragged him back into the little temple before mentioned, and regarded him with a terrible look.
'Who are you—and what means this treatment of me?' demanded the boy, trembling with affright.
The mysterious unknown replied not by words—but slowly raised the mask from his face. Clinton's blood ran cold with horror; for, by the dim and uncertain light, he beheld the ghastly, awful features of THE DEAD MAN!
'Said I not truly that no prison could hold me?—vain are all stone walls and iron chains, for I can burst them asunder at will! I had hoped to avenge myself on that accursed Sydney, in a terrible appalling manner; but the law has become the avenger—he will die upon the gallows, and I am content. Ha, ha, ha! how he will writhe, and choke while I shall be at liberty, to read the account of his execution in the papers, and gloat over the description of his dying agonies! But I have an account to settle with you, Kinchen; you recollect how you hurled the wine-bottle at my head, as I was about to stab Sydney on the night of my capture—thereby preventing me from securing a speedy and deadly revenge at that time? Now, what punishment do you deserve for that damnable piece of treachery to an old comrade?'
Thus spoke the terrible Dead Man, as he glared menacingly upon the affrighted and trembling Clinton, whose fears deprived him of all power of utterance.