"Then—then I went mad. My brain was scarred and numb. I lost all sense of pity—all fear of law—all respect for woman. I only knew my wrongs—my despair—my hate. I watched, I waited, I found them together—"
"And then? What did you do then?" demanded the stranger, rising from his seat with sudden energy, his voice deep, insistent, masterful. "Tell me what you did?"
The miner's wild voice died to a hesitant whisper. "I—I fled."
"But before that—before you fled?"
"What is it to you?" asked the hermit, gazing with scared eyes at the man who towered above him like the demon of retribution. "Who are you?"
"I am the avenger!" answered the other. "The man you hated was my brother. The woman you killed was his wife."
The fugitive fell upon his knees with a cry like that of one being strangled.
Out of the darkness a red flame darted, and the crouching man fell to the floor, a crumpled, bloody heap.
For a long time the executioner stood above the body, waiting, listening from the shadow to the faint receding breath-strokes of his victim. When all was still he restored his weapon to its sheath and stepped over the threshold into the keen and pleasant night.
As he closed the door behind him the stranger raised his eyes to Solidor, whose sovereign, cloud-like crest swayed among the stars.