I listened to his narrative with a pained feeling at my heart, and a shuddering sensation as of icy cold ran through my veins. Why, I had fancied that all who beheld Nina must, perforce, love and admire her. True, when this old man was accidentally knocked down by her horses (a circumstance she had never mentioned to me), it was careless of her not to stop and make inquiry as to the extent of his injuries, but she was young and thoughtless; she could not be intentionally heartless. I was horrified to think that she should have made such an enemy as even this aged and poverty-stricken wretch; but I said nothing. I had no wish to betray myself. He waited for me to speak and grew impatient at my silence.
"Say now, my friend!" he queried, with a sort of childish eagerness, "did I not take a good vengeance? God himself could not have done better!"
"I think your wife deserved her fate," I said, curtly, "but I cannot say I admire you for being her murderer."
He turned upon me rapidly, throwing both hands above his head with a frantic gesticulation. His voice rose to a kind of muffled shriek.
"Murderer you call me--ha! ha! that is good. No, no! She murdered me! I tell you I died when I saw her asleep in her lover's arms--she killed me at one blow. A devil rose up in my body and took swift revenge; that devil is in me now, a brave devil, a strong devil! That is why I do not fear the plague; the devil in me frightens away death. Some day it will leave me"--here his smothered yell sunk gradually to a feeble, weary tone; "yes, it will leave me and I shall find a dark place where I can sleep; I do not sleep much now." He eyed me half wistfully.
"You see," he explained, almost gently, "my memory is very good, and when one thinks of many things one cannot sleep. It is many years ago, but every night I see HER; she comes to me wringing her little white hands, her blue eyes stare, I hear short moans of terror. Every night, every night!" He paused, and passed his hands in a bewildered way across his forehead. Then, like a man suddenly waking from sleep, he stared as though he saw me now for the first time, and broke into a low chuckling laugh.
"What a thing, what a thing it is, the memory!" he muttered. "Strange--strange! See, I remembered all that, and forgot you! But I know what you want--a suit of clothes--yes, you need them badly, and I also need the money for them. Ha, ha! And you will not have the fine coat of Milord Inglese! No, no! I understand. I will find you something--patience, patience!"