“Yes,” cried Vijal, wildly; “and I sought your death.”
Brandon laughed again.
“Do you know how old I am?”
Vijal looked up in amazement. He saw by that one look what he had not thought of before in his excitement, that Brandon was a younger man than himself by several years. He was silent.
“How many years is it since your father died?”
Vijal said nothing.
“Fool!” exclaimed Brandon. “It is twenty years. You are false to your father. You pretend to avenge his death, and you seek out a young man who had no connection with it. I was in England when he was killed. I was a child only seven years of age. Do you believe now that I am his murderer?”
Brandon, while speaking in this way, had relaxed his hold, though he still held his pistol pointed at the head of his prostrate enemy. Vijal gave a long, low sigh.
“You were too young,” said he, at last. “You are younger than I am. I was only twelve.”
“I could not have been his murderer, then?”