"What? Death?"
"Ay."
"I don't know," said Mount.
"Nor I," said the Englishman, with an oath; "and," he added, "I have dealt it freely enough, too. Have you?"
"Yes," said Mount.
"And he?" glancing at me.
"Once," I replied, hoarsely.
"I've watched men die many times," continued the Englishman, rubbing his thumb reflectively over his irons, "and I'm not a whit the wiser. I've seen them hang, drown, burn, strangle—ay, seen them die o' fright, too. Puff! Out they go at last, and—leave me gaping at their shells. I've slid my hanger into men and the blood came, but I was none the wiser. What makes the dead look so small? Have you ever killed your enemy? Is there satisfaction in it? No, by God, for the second you stop his breath he's gone—escaped! And all you've got is a thing at your feet with clothes too large for it."
He looked at me and played with his wrist-chains. "You're six feet," he said, musingly; "you'll shrink to five foot six. They all do. I'll wager you are afraid, young man!"
"You lie!" I said.