“It was natural. I hoped that you would have given up this fancy of accompanying me. You can not stand the fatigue.”
“I can stand it easily,” she said. “When we have a cherished object, weariness does not count.”
“A cherished object! What is yours?”
“Sit down, and I will tell you. I am tired. You can rejoin the column in ten minutes.”
“So be it,” said Darke, gloomily.
And he sat down near her.
“You wish to be informed of my object in going with you everywhere,” she said. And her voice which had at first been gay and careless, assumed a mocking accent, making the nerves tingle. “I can explain in a very few words my romantic desire. I wish to see him fall.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Darke, coldly; “you mean—”
“That man—yes. You promised to kill him, when you next met. Did you not promise me that?”
Darke looked at the speaker with grim admiration.