"Not yet," he answered, and once again he passed his hand up, and
over his face and brow; "no, not yet, sir." Here he rose, and
stood facing me, and I noticed that one hand was still hidden in
his pocket, and, thereafter, while I listened to him, I kept my
eyes directed thither. "That night--before she--died, sir," he
continued, "she told me the name of the man who had destroyed
her, and killed my soul; and I have been searching for him ever
since--east, and west, and north, and south. Now, sir, here is
my question: If I should ever meet that man face to face, as I
now see you, should I not be justified in--killing him?"
For a moment I stood with bent head, yet conscious all the while
of the burning eyes that scanned my face, then: "Yes," said I.
The man stood utterly still, his mouth opened as if he would
have spoken, but no word came. All at once he turned about, and
walked unsteadily five or six paces. Now, as I looked, I saw him
suddenly draw his hand from his pocket, then, as he wheeled, I
knew, and hurled myself face downward as the pistol flashed.
"Madman!" I cried, and next moment was on my feet; but, with a
sound that was neither a groan nor a scream, and yet something of
both, he leapt into the thickest part of the underbrush, and made
off. And standing there, dazed by the suddenness of it all, I
heard the snapping of twigs grow fainter and fainter as he
crashed through in headlong flight.