“Yet I’d bet a pony you don’t care a pinch of snuff for James Stuart. ’Tis loyalty to yourselves that animates you.”
Presently he harked back to the topic that was never closed between us.
“By this time next week you will have touched the heart of our eternal problem. The mystery of it will perhaps be all clear to you then. ’Tis most strange how at one sweep all a man’s turbulent questing life passes into the quiet of—of what? That is the question: of unending death or of achieved knowledge?” Then he added, coming abruptly to the issue: “The day draws near. Do you think better of my offer now?”
“Sir Robert, I have lived a tempestuous life these past months. I have known hunger and cold and weariness; I have been at the top of fortune’s wave and at the bottom; but I have never found it worth my while to become divorced from honour. You find me near dead from privations and disease. Do you think I would pay so much for such an existence? Believe me, when a man has passed through what I have he is empty of fears.”
“I could better spare a better man,” he said.
“Sorry to inconvenience you,” I told him grimly.
“I’ faith, I think you’re destined to do that dead or alive.”
“I think I am. You will find me more in your way dead than alive.”
“I’ll outlive your memory, never fear.” Then quietly, after a moment’s hesitation: “There’s one thing it may be a comfort for you to know. I’ve given up any thought of putting her on the rack. I’ll win fairly or not at all.”
I drew a deep free breath. “Thank you for telling me.”