n face so near and hear your voice
in my ear,--years and years; and I'm glad it does. You've ruined my
life, and I'll ruin yours yet."

There was a pause; Blanchard stared cold and hard into Grimbal's eyes;
then John continued, and his flicker of passion cooled a little as he
did so,--

"At least that's what I said to myself when first I heard this little
bit of news--that I'd ruin you; now I'm not sure."

"At least I'll thank you to make up your mind. 'T is turn an' turn
about. You be uppermost just this minute. As to ruining me, that's as
may be."

"Well, I shall decide presently. I suppose you won't run away. And it 's
no great matter if you do, for a fool can't hide himself under his
folly."

"I sha'n't run. I want to get through with this and have it behind me."

"You're in a hurry now."

"It 's just an' right. I knaw that. An' ban't no gert odds who 's
informer. But I want to have it behind me--an' you in front. Do 'e see?
This out o' hand, then it 's my turn again. Keepin' me waitin' 'pon such
a point be tu small an' womanish for a fight between men. 'T is your
turn to hit, Jan Grimbal, an' theer 's no guard 'gainst the stroke, so
if you're a man, hit an' have done with it."

"Ah! you don't like the thought of waiting!"

"No, I do not. I haven't got your snake's patience. Let me have what
I've got to have, an' suffer it, an' make an' end of it."

"You're in a hurry for a dish that won't be pleasant eating, I assure
you."

"It's just an' right I tell 'e; an' I knaw it is, though all these years
cover it. Your paart 's differ'nt. I lay you 'm in a worse hell than me,
even now."

"A moralist! How d' you like the thought of a damned good
flogging--fifty lashes laid on hot and strong?"

"Doan't you wish you had the job? Thrashing of a man wi' his legs an'
hands tied would just suit your sort of courage."

"As to that, they won't flog you really; and I fancy I could thrash you
still without any help. Your memory 's short. Never mind. Get you gone
now; and never speak to me again as long as you live, or I shall
probably hit you across the mouth with my riding-whip. As to giving you
up, you're in my hands and must wait my time for that."

"Must I, by God? Hark to a fule talkin'! Why should I wait your
pleasure, an' me wi' a tongue in my head? You've jawed long enough. Now
you can listen. I'll give _myself_ up, so theer! I'll tell the truth,
an' what drove me to desert, an' what you be anyway--as goes