"Or—what?" the young man cried hurriedly.
"Or you can stay here," Colonel John continued, "and we will treat the past as if it had not been. But on a condition."
James's colour came back. "What'll you be wanting?" he muttered, averting his gaze.
"You must swear that you will not pursue this foolish plan further. That first."
"What can I be doing without them?" was the sullen answer.
"Very true," Colonel John rejoined. "But you must swear also, my friend, that you will not attempt anything against me, nor be party to anything."
"What'd I be doing?"
"Don't lie!" the Colonel replied, losing his temper for a single instant. "You know what you have done, and therefore what you'd be likely to do. I've no time to bandy words, and you know how you stand. Swear on your hope of salvation to those two things, and you may stay. Refuse, and I make myself safe by your absence. That is all I have to say."
The young man had the sense to know that he was escaping lightly. The times were rough, the district was lawless, he had embarked—how foolishly he saw—on an enterprise too high for him. He was willing enough to swear that he would not pursue that enterprise further. But the second undertaking stuck in his gizzard. He hated Colonel John. For the past wrong, for the past defeat, above all for the present humiliation, ay, and for the very magnanimity which spared him, he, the weak spirit, hated the strong with a furious, if timid malignity.
"I'm having no choice," he said, shrugging his shoulders.