"
"I am a gambler," said Risque, curtly; "not an assassin! I always give
my opponents fair show. But I will not touch blood-money."
"What fair show do you give me?"
"Two hours' start. I am responsible for my passengers. Go on, unharmed,
if you will. But at Hospice I shall proclaim you. Every moment that you
falter spins the rope for your gallows!"
Plade did not dally, but took to flight at once. He climbed by the
angles of the terraces, and saw the diligence far below tugging up the
circuitous road. He ran at full speed; no human being was abroad
besides, but yet there were other footfalls in the snow, other sounds,
as of a man breathing hard and pursued upon the lonely mountain. The
fugitive turned--once, twice, thrice; he laughed aloud, and shook his
clenched hand at the sky. Still the flat, dead tramp followed close
behind, and the pace seemed not unfamiliar. It could not be--his blood
ceased to circulate, and stood freezing at the thought--was it the
march, the tread of Hugenot?
He dropped a loud curse, like a howl, and kept upon his way. The
footfalls were as swift; he saw their impressions at his heels--prints
of a small, lithe, human foot, made by no living man. He shut his eyes
and his ears, but the consciousness remained, the inexplicable
phenomenon of some invisible but familiar thing which would not leave
him; which made its register as it passed; which no speed could
outstrip, no argument exorcise.
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