"Slave! scoundrel!" were his first words, "we have met again at last, and your life shall pay the forfeit! Place him in irons!"
"Coward!" I hurled in his teeth a second time, and my hand grasped my cutlass, which in a moment flashed in the air. His armed crew sprang between us--I defied them all--he grew bold under their protection.
"Strike him down!" he exclaimed; and, springing forward, his sword entered my side--but scarce was it withdrawn, ere _his_ blood streamed from the point of my cutlass to my hand.
Suffice it to say, I was overpowered and disarmed--I was taken on board his cutter, and put in irons. And now, sir (continued the squire, raising his voice, for the subject seemed to wound him), know that you are in the company of a man who has been condemned to die--yes, sir, to die like a common murderer on the gallows! You start--but it is true; and, if you do not like the company of a man for whom the hangman once provided a neckerchief, I will drop my story.
Well, sir (continued he), I was lodged in prison. I was accused of being a smuggler--of having drawn my sword against one of His Majesty's officers--of having wounded him. On the testimony of my enemy and his crew, I was tried and condemned--condemned to die without hope of pardon. I had but a day to live, when a lady entered my miserable cell. She came to comfort the criminal, to administer consolation in his last hour. I was in no mood to listen to the admonitions of the female Samaritan, and I was about to bid her depart from me. Her face was veiled, and in the dim light of my dungeon I saw it not. But she spoke, and her voice went through my soul like the remembrance of a national air which we have sung in childhood, and hear in a foreign land.
"Lady!" I exclaimed, "what fiend hath sent thee? Come ye to ask me to forgive my murderer? If _you_ command it, I will."
"I would ask you to forgive your enemies," replied she, mildly; "but not for my sake."
"Yet it can only be for _your_ sake," said I; "but tell me, lady, are you the _wife_ of the man who has pursued me to death?"
"But you will be?" cried I, hastily; "and you love him--tell me, do you not love him?"
"Unhappy man," she returned, "what know you of me, that you torment me with questions that torture me?"