"Thou wretch!" I cried. "Thou art her murderer!"
He raised his head and looked beyond me with that strange, faint
smile. "I know," he replied, with the dignity which was his at
times. "You may play the headsman, if you choose. I dispute not
your right. But it is scarce worth while. I have taken poison."
The sunshine came into the room, and the wind from the river, and
the trumpet notes of swans flying to the north. "The George is
ready for sailing," he said at last. "To-morrow or the next day she
will be going home with the tidings of this massacre. I shall go
with her, and within a week they will bury me at sea. There is a
stealthy, slow, and secret poison. . . . I would not die in a land
where I have lost every throw of the dice, and I would not die in
England for Buckingham to come and look upon my face, and so I
took that poison. For the man upon the floor, there, - prison and
death awaited him at home. He chose to flee at once."
He ceased to speak, and sat with his head bowed upon his breast.
"If you are content that it should be as it is," he said at length,
"perhaps you will leave me? I am not good company to-day."
His hand was busy again with the letter upon the table, and his
gaze was fixed beyond me. "I have lost," he muttered. "How I
came to play my cards so badly I do not know. The stake was
heavy, - I have not wherewithal to play again.
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