except
by using your weapon, what would you do?"

"Shoot him on the spot," replied Marlow at once, and then added, "if I
were quite certain of his intention."

"Of course--of course," replied Sir Philip. "And yet, my good friend, if
you did so without witnesses--supposing the child too young to testify,
or the woman sleeping at whom the blow was aimed--you would be hung for
your just, wise, charitable act."

"Perhaps so," said Marlow, abruptly; "but I would do it, nevertheless."

"Right, right," replied Sir Philip, rising and shaking his hand; "right,
and like yourself! There are cases when, with a clear consciousness of
the rectitude of our purpose, and a strong confidence in the justice of
our judgment, we must step over all human laws, be the result to
ourselves what it may. Do you remember a man--one Cutter--to whom you
taught a severe lesson on the very first day I had the pleasure of
knowing you? I should have been undoubtedly justified, morally, and
perhaps even legally also, in sending my sword through his body, when he
attacked me that day. Had I done so I should have saved a valuable human
life, spared the world the spectacle of a great crime, and preserved an
excellent husband and father to his wife and children. That very man has
murdered the game-keeper of the Earl of Selby; and being called to the
spot yesterday, I had to commit him for that crime, upon evidence which
left not a doubt of his guilt. I spared him when he assaulted me from a
weak and unworthy feeling of compassion, although I knew the man's
character, and dimly foresaw his career. I have regretted it since; but
never so much as yesterday. This, of course, is no parallel case to that
which I just now proposed; but the one led my mind to the other."

"Did the wretched man admit his guilt?" asked Marlow.

"He did not, and could not deny it," answered Sir Philip; "during the
examination he maintained a hard, sullen silence; and only said, when I
ordered his committal, that I ought not to be so hard upon him for that
offence, as it was the best service he could have done me; for that he
had silenced a man whose word could strip me of all I possessed."

"What could he mean?" asked Marlow, eagerly.

"Nay, I know not," replied Sir Philip, in an indifferent tone; "crushed
vipers often turn to bite. The man he killed was the son of the former
sexton here--an honest, good creature too, for whom I obtained his
place; his murderer a reckless villa