'I see,' said Ravengar.
'You do,' said Hugo. 'You see, you hear, you breathe, but Bentley
doesn't. Bentley has killed himself.' (Ravengar started.) 'So that if
you have not my blood on your conscience, you have his. You tempted him;
he fell ... and he has repented. Admit that you tempted him!'
Ravengar smiled superiorly. And then Hugo sprang forward in a sudden
overmastering passion.
'Hate breeds hate,' he cried, 'and I have learnt from you how to hate.
Admit that you have tried to ruin and to murder me, or, by G--! I will
kill you sooner than I intended.'
He had no weapon in his hands; the revolver was in a drawer; but
nevertheless Ravengar shrank from those menacing hands.
'Look here, Hugo--'
'Will you admit it? Or shall I have to--'
Their wills met in a supreme conflict.
'Oh, very well, then,' muttered Ravengar.
The conflict was over.
Hugo returned to his chair.
'Miserable cur!' he exclaimed. 'You were afraid of me. I knew I could
frighten you. I would have liked to be able to admire something more
than your ingenuity. Ravengar, I do believe I could have forgiven your
attempt to murder me if it had not included an attempt to dishonour me
at the same time. There is something simple and grand about a
straightforward murder--I shall prove to you soon that I do not always
regard murder as a crime--but to murder a man amid circumstances of
shame, to finish him off while making him look a fool--that is the act
of a--of a Ravengar.
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