“I would kill you if I could,” she said, very low.
“The Wonderful Whalley’s” hand went to his belt, but the great-bladed knives no longer were there. Fumbling in his pocket, he drew forth another knife, opened it and threw it at her feet.
“I am ready,” he said.
Helga looked at the knife, and then at him with unutterable loathing. The man gave a little groan.
“Do not!” he said. “I was cr-r-razy! Eet ees gone, now. Eet was ze beating of ze sea. I haf not know zat I keel until now I break out of my preeson las’ night an’ come here to ask you to forgive.”
“No,” said the girl stonily.
“To beg you to forgive an’ to warn you.” With a strikingly solemn gesture he raised his hand, and swept it through the circle of the heavens.
“We may not know when eet strike,” he said slowly. “Ze danger ees there. Eet ees hanging over you an’ over me. Me, I may not escape my fate. Eet ees not matter. But you, so young, so lofely, so brave, so kind to ze poor arteest—I come to warn you, perhaps to safe you.”
“Do you know that this is the grave of the man you killed?” she said, her eyes fixed upon his.
Simply, and as a child might, the juggler kneeled at the grave. He clasped his hands and raised his face, the eyes closed. With a pitying, yet abhorrent surprise, the girl watched him. His lips moved. She caught a half whispered word, here and there, in the soft southern tongue. In the midst of his prayer the murderer leaped to his feet His muscles stiffened; he was all attention.