He came towards me, and pointing to the dagger in my belt, said—“The hour has passed!”
“Hour, what hour?” asked I.
“The one you granted me; it was necessary for me to have so much time allowed me in which to bring you here. Then I conjured you to spare my life, now I supplicate you to take it away.”
The most tender feelings of the heart, love, gratitude, and friendship, united themselves together to torture me. Unable to say a word, but sobbing bitterly, I cast myself at the feet of the slave. He raised me up in haste.
“What are you doing?” cried he.
“I pay you the homage that is your due, but I am no longer worthy of friendship such as yours; can your friendship be pushed so far as to forgive me my ingratitude?”
For a time his expression remained stern, he appeared to be undergoing a violent mental contest. He took a step towards me; then drew back, and seemed on the point of speaking, but no words passed his lips. The struggle was a short one, he opened his arms to embrace me, saying—
“May I now call you brother?”
My only reply was to cast myself on his breast. After a short pause, he added—
“You were always kind, but misfortune had rendered you unjust.”