“You are a singular woman,” he said; “you never forget a wrong. And yet the wrong, people might say, was committed by you—not him.”
“Do you say that?” exclaimed the woman with sudden venom in her voice.
“I say nothing, madam,” was the gloomy reply. “I only declare that you hate much more strongly than I do. I hate him—and hate him honestly. But I would not take him at disadvantage. You would strike him, wherever you met him—in the dark—in the back—I think you would dance the war-dance around him, when he was dying!”
And Darke uttered a short jarring laugh.
“You are right,” said the woman, coolly. “I wish to see that man die—I expected you to kill him on that night in Pennsylvania. You promised to do it;—redeem your promise!”
“I will try to do so, madam,” said Darke, coolly.
“And I wish to be present on the occasion.”
Darke laughed as before.
“That doubtless has prevented you from having our good friend Mohun—well—assassinated!”
The woman was silent for a moment. Then she said:—-