He would never stand in the
prisoner's dock, or be consigned again to stone walls. The gossips
should have a dead man's face to gaze at, and welcome; they might make
what sport they pleased of that, but not again of his living agony.
Then, instead of his being Solomon's murderer, he would be his victim.
To judge by his present feeling, thought Richard, bitterly, this man
would not enjoy his triumph even then. Revenge, as his mother had once
told him, was like a game of battle-door--it is never certain who gets
the last stroke. If Solomon was now dead, starved skeleton or rat-eaten
corpse as he might be, Richard felt that he would still have had the
advantage over him.
"What is it? Why are we stopping?" cried he, frantically, as the man
pulled up on the top of a hill.
"Let me breathe the horses for an instant," pleaded the driver; "we
shall gain time in the end."
"How far are we still from Gethin?" inquired Richard, impatiently.
"In time, two hours, Sir, for the road is bad, though me and the horses
will do our best; but the distance is scarce twelve miles. Do you see
that black thing out to seaward yonder? That's the castled rock. He
stands out fine against the sunset, don't he?"
"Yes, yes; make haste;" and on they sped again at a gallop.
Within a mile or two of this spot Richard had first caught sight of that
same object twenty years ago.
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