'Stay,' he whispered. 'You teach your son well.'
'I have taught him nothing that you heard to-night. Depart instantly, or
I will rouse him.'
'You are free to do so. Shall I rouse him?'
'You dare not do that.'
'I dare do anything, I have told you. He knows me well, it seems. At
least I will know him.'
'Would you kill him in his sleep?' cried the widow, throwing herself
between them.
'Woman,' he returned between his teeth, as he motioned her aside, 'I
would see him nearer, and I will. If you want one of us to kill the
other, wake him.'
With that he advanced, and bending down over the prostrate form, softly
turned back the head and looked into the face. The light of the fire
was upon it, and its every lineament was revealed distinctly. He
contemplated it for a brief space, and hastily uprose.
'Observe,' he whispered in the widow's ear: 'In him, of whose existence
I was ignorant until to-night, I have you in my power. Be careful how
you use me. Be careful how you use me. I am destitute and starving, and
a wanderer upon the earth. I may take a sure and slow revenge.'
'There is some dreadful meaning in your words. I do not fathom it.'
'There is a meaning in them, and I see you fathom it to its very depth.
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