Which Tells of a Reconciliation

"Sir," said Mr. Chichester, coming nearer and smiling down at
prostrate Barnabas, "this is most thoughtful--most kind of you. I
have been hoping to meet you again, more especially since our last
interview, and now, to find you awaiting me at such an hour, in such
a place,--remote from all chances of disturbance, and--with the
River so very convenient too! Indeed, you couldn't have chosen a
fitter place, and I am duly grateful."

Saying which, Mr. Chichester seated himself upon the mouldering
remains of an ancient wherry, and slipped one hand into the bosom of
his coat.

"Sir," said he, leaning towards Barnabas, "you appear to be hurt,
but you are not--dying, of course?"

"Dying!" repeated Barnabas, lifting a hand to his aching brow,
"dying,--no."

"And yet, I fear you are," sighed Mr. Chichester, "yes, I think you
will be most thoroughly dead before morning,--I do indeed." And he
drew a pistol from his pocket, very much as though it were a
snuff-box.

"But before we write 'Finis' to your very remarkable career," he
went on, "I have a few,--a very few words to say. Sir, there have
been many women in my life, yes, a great many, but only one I ever
loved, and you, it seems must love her too. You have obtruded
yourself wantonly in my concerns from the very first moment we met.
I have always found you an obstacle, an obstruction. But latterly
you have become a menace, threatening my very existence for, should
you dispossess me of my heritage I starve, and, sir--I have no mind
to starve. Thus, since it is to be your life or mine, I, very
naturally, prefer that it shall be yours. Also you threatened to
hound me from the clubs--well, sir, had I not had the good fortune to
meet you tonight, I had planned to make you the scorn and
laughing-stock of Town, and to drive you from London like the
impostor you are. It was an excellent plan, and I am sorry to
forego it, but necessity knows no law, and so to-night I mean to rid
myself of the obstacle, and sweep it away altogether." As he ended,
Mr. Chichester smiled, sighed, and cocked his pistol. But, even as
it clicked, a figure rose up from behind the rotting wherry and, as
Mr. Chichester leaned towards Barnabas, smiling still but with eyes
of deadly menace, a hand, pale and claw-like in the half-light, fell
and clenched itself upon his shoulder.