I
knew there was nothing at which he would hesitate, unless some strange
freak in his nature might influence him, such freaks as come to the
lightning, to the wild beast slaying, changes for no reason ever known.
Remorse, mercy, pity, I knew did not exist for him. But with a flash it
came to my mind that this was all the better, if he must now serve as my
surgeon.
He looked into my eye, and I returned his gaze, scorning to ask him not
to take advantage of me, now that I was fallen. His own eye changed. It
asked of me, as though he spoke: "Are you, then, game to the core? Shall
I admire you and give you another chance, or shall I kill you now?" I
say that I saw, felt, read all this in his mind. I looked up into his
face, and said:
"You cannot kill me. I am not going to die. Go on. Soon, then."
A sort of sigh broke from his lips, as though he felt content. I do not
think it was because he found his foe a worthy one. I do not think he
considered me either as his foe or his friend or his patient. He was
simply about to do something which would test his own nerve, his own
resources, something which, if successful, would allow him to approve
his own belief in himself.
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