The wretch clung to the
parapet, and called on God and mercy. He was lifted on high in the
strong arms, and whirled across the barrier. The other looked grimly at
the falling burden. He wondered if a dog or a goat would have been so
long falling. The distance was profound indeed; but to the murderer's
sanguine thought the body hung suspended in the air. It would not sink.
The clouds seemed to bear it up for testimony; the cold cliffs held
aloft their heads for justice; the snow-flakes fell like the ballots of
jurymen, voting for revenge--all nature seemed roused to animation by
this one act. An icicle dropped with a keen ring like a knife, and the
stream below pealed a shrill alarum.
He had done the bad, dark deed. Was he more resolute or courageous now
that he had taken blood upon his hands and shadow upon his soul?
The body disappeared at length, carried downward by the torrent; but a
wild bird darted after it, as if to reveal the secret of its
concealment, and then a noise like a human footfall crackled in the
snow.
"I like a man who takes the chances," said a cold, hard voice; "but
Chance, Andy Plade, decides against you to-day."
IX.
THE ONE GOOD DEED OF A PRIVATEERSMAN.
The murderer turned from his reverie with hands extended and trembling;
the snow was not more bleached than his bloodless face, and his feet
grew slippery and infirm.
Pages:
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87