“No—no, I will not go with you,” shrieked Willmington, “I did you no harm——I intended you no harm. Let me live a little longer—give me but seven years to live—five—two;—half a year;—a month—a week, a day;—do not take me away so soon. Let me live, let me live. Do not take me with you. It was not I that drowned you.”
“It would be prudent on your part to fill the five minutes, which are accorded you more profitably than by these vain petitions. I—”
“Vain petitions! Let them not be vain; look at the children that I have to maintain and protect: do not take me away from them,” cried Willmington, interrupting Appadocca.
“I am no ghost,” continued Appadocca, “but something worse.”
“Was he not drowned?” Willmington began to mutter. “Did he not jump into the sea—at the bocas—or farther out?—Can he—could he have been saved? no, no, delusion—delusion. His face is as pale as death. He is still and quiet as the grave;” continued Willmington, as he gazed intently on Appadocca, who was still sitting calmly at the table.
The period had elapsed, the moment of doom had now arrived.
“The period is past, your time is come,” said Appadocca, “rise and go with me.”
“No—no,” shrieked Willmington, madly,—“no—no—no.”
And with a sudden spring he jumped from the corner to one of the doors: he was roughly thrown back by some person who was outside: he then rushed to another, and was again repelled—to another, and he was once more forced back. He sprang on to the jalousies, and as he succeeded in opening one, he was quickly shoved back by some powerful arm from the outside, into the room again.