"But, you devil, you murdered him! I saw you do it! You knew it was he—and you killed him. You knew he would not try to kill you, and you waited; then, when he had fired, you took careful aim and killed him!"
"You reiterate, my friend. These are facts with which I am familiar."
The cool, sneering tone stung Alan to madness. He advanced menacingly.
"Murderer, you shall not escape!"
"A fitting sentiment, truly, from a man who wants to marry my daughter!"
"Marry your daughter! Marry the daughter of my father's murderer! I would sooner never see the face of woman again than do this thing."
"Good! I am well content. And now, young man, you are of age; you have come into your patrimony, including your ruined keep on the island of Rona; and I will trouble you to go—to leave Kerival for good and all."
Suddenly, without a word, Alan moved rapidly forward. With a light touch he laid his hand for a moment on the brow of the motionless man in the wheeled chair.
"There! I lay upon you, Tristran de Kerival, the curse of the newly dead and of the living! May the evil that you have done corrode your brain, and may your life silt away as sand, and may your soul know the second death!"
As he turned to leave the room he saw Kerbastiou standing in the doorway.