"You couldn't do it, my friend. Do you think I didn't think it all out before I told you—what I have? How do I know you will not tell her? Because I know you. Besides, do you think it matters? Do you think you could baulk me? You do not know what is in my mind. You might tell her all you know—but that would not hinder me from carrying out my plans. No, no, I have not risen again to be frustrated a second time."
"Shall I tell you what I think?"
"I know. You think it would have been better if I had not risen, that you would have preferred for me to have died in the Thames, to coming back here to make her suffer as I have suffered. Very well, Signor Winfield, but that does not alter me."
"You mean that you will fulfil the threat you made to Sprague and Purvis?"
"I mean that I always try to pay my debts, my friend—always."
Again Winfield wiped the perspiration from his forehead. Even yet he could scarcely realise what had taken place. It seemed to him that all the foundations of his being were shaken.
"Give it up, Leicester."
"Give what up, my friend?"
"This mad scheme of yours."
"Mad! Nay, I've pondered over it for years. I've brooded over it in the silent places. I've suffered as few men have suffered, that I might gain the power that I wanted. No, my friend, I'll drag her as low as she dragged me. I'll make her feel the sting of scorn and insult as she made me feel it. She cared nothing for my disgrace, and do you think I'll stay my hand?"