"
"It was the right thing to do," he answered. "But instead of the reward
comes now the keenest grief I have ever known, the loss of the small
regard in which I was one time held by the only woman I ever loved or
ever shall love."
He stopped speaking, but I fancied he had not finished, so I did not
interrupt him. I had so much to say in return that I did not care to
begin until I had a clear field. He was becoming restless, and I could
see that the fever was mounting rapidly. After a long pause he
continued:--
"But, in a way, the loss of her regard is the least of my troubles, and
I should bear it with equanimity, for if I am honest with her, I would
not desire to keep it, as I can bring her no happiness. It is the loss of
my respect for her, the knowledge that I was wrong in deeming her better
than other women, the humiliation of learning that I was a pitiable dupe
in giving my love to one who could give herself to Charles Stuart, that
hurts."
I saw that he was trying to suppress his excitement, but it soon got the
better of him. He rose from his chair, drew the rug closer about him, and
walked rapidly to and fro across the room a minute or two. Being near my
chair, he bent down to me, looked wildly about him to see that no one was
eavesdropping, and whispered:--
"I intend to kill the king just as soon as I'm out of this. Then God or
the devil, I care not which, may finish me.
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