"BEAUTIFUL SHE LOOKED, EVEN IN DEATH."
Jack's calmness of utterance, so strongly in contrast to that of the stranger, produced some effect upon his hearer. There was a lengthy pause. Save for the sharp breathing of the two men confronting each other, the chamber might have been given up entirely to the dead. It seemed in that pause as though the still form in the shroud were listening for an answer.
At length the stranger spoke, his voice now tremulous and pathetic:
"You doubt my love for her? Eh, bien! I loved her as few men could have loved. I have confronted death once, twice this day to see her dear, dead face. I have confronted—still confront—what is worse than death: disgrace and ignominy. Has Monsieur done as much?"
"No," said Jack, sententiously, touched yet chagrined by the man's passion.
"Until Monsieur has done as much, has he the presumption to say that he has as great a right to stand here as I?"
"Presumption!" cried Jack. "By whatever right I stand here, I certainly question your right to use such terms to me. But before we discuss the point further, would it not be as well to have a light?"
There was a hasty movement on the part of the figure opposite.
"If you stir, you are a dead man."
There was a faint ray of light shining through the window, not sufficient for Jack to see the person before him, but sufficient to see the cold gleam of steel. It was a sword. This man was a soldier, then, and an enemy. Jack now understood his allusion to the peril he had run in coming there, and admired his bravery. His love for Minnie Denton must indeed have been great.