And yet
the wrong, people might say, was committed by _you_--not _him_."
"Do _you_ say that?" exclaimed the woman with sudden venom in her
voice.
"I say nothing, madam," was the gloomy reply. "I only declare that you
hate much more strongly than I do. I hate him--and hate him honestly.
But I would not take him at disadvantage. You would strike him,
wherever you met him--in the dark--in the back--I think you would dance
the war-dance around him, when he was dying!"
And Darke uttered a short jarring laugh.
"You are right," said the woman, coolly. "I wish to see that man die--I
expected you to kill him on that night in Pennsylvania. You promised to
do it;--redeem your promise!"
"I will try to do so, madam," said Darke, coolly.
"And I wish to be present on the occasion."
Darke laughed as before.
"That doubtless has prevented you from having our good friend
Mohun--well--assassinated!"
The woman was silent for a moment. Then she said:---
"No, I have tried that."
"Ah!--recently?"
"Yes."
"By what means--who was your agent?"
"Swartz."
Darke waited, listening.
"He has three times waylaid _him_ behind the rebel lines, and fired on
him as he was riding at night through the woods," added the woman.
"Bah!" said Darke; "Swartz told you that?"
"He has done so.
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