continuing esteem the hatchet, say, with which the deed was done.
"No," I gasped; "not I."
"Let me entreat you, my dear friend."
He pressed it on me, as though it were a gift of priceless worth.
"I won't."
"Consider the interest which attaches to this thing. It is not much to look at, but a little lump of shapeless lead, but consider the scene on which it figured. Oh, my friend, it might have burst John Osborn's eye—I almost think it grazed his head."
The train was slackening. Thank the powers! I thrust my arm through the window of the carriage, intending to grasp the handle of the door. Was I to have this reeking relic forced on me by a ghost! He misunderstood my meaning.
"Is it suicide you seek?"
"It—it's escape from you!"
"Then let us go together."
"How are we to go together, if I am to get away from you?"
"Ah, my friend, but that you cannot do."
"Cannot! I at least can try."
"Remove your grasp from the handle of that door, or I swear that I will not leave you, never for an instant, night or day, till you, like me, are dead."
He did not raise his tones, but his eyes were strangely light Thank heaven, the train was slackening fast. In a few moments we should reach a station. Then—then we should see! He read my thoughts.
