“I am come to rescue you,” said Richard, in low but distinct tones; “to undo the evil that I have already done, although it was no less than you deserved, nor an overpayment of the debt I owed you.  In return you will doubtless denounce me as having meant to murder you.”

No answer.  If Richard had not heard his cries, it would have seemed that this poor wretch had lost the power of speech.  His huge head drooped upon his shoulder, and he leaned against the rocky wall as though his limbs could not have otherwise supported themselves; they shook, indeed—­but was it with weakness or with hate?—­as though he had the palsy.

“Well, you will have reason to do so,” continued Richard, calmly, “for I did mean to murder you.  In ten minutes hence you will find yourself among your neighbors, free to act as you please.  I shall make no appeal to your mercy; it would, I know, be as fruitless as was yours to mine the other day; but if you abstain from molesting me, this mine, with all its hidden treasure, shall be your own.  I have nothing more to say.”

Solomon answered nothing.  “Perhaps,” thought Richard, “he still doubts me.—­Well, here is the ladder;” and he suited the action to the word.  Solomon’s great hand flew out from his side, and clutched a rung as a dog’s teeth close upon a bone; a dog’s growl, too, half triumph and half threat, came from his deep chest; then he began slowly to ascend, keeping his eyes fixed on Richard.  The latter drew back a little to give him space, and watched him with folded arms.

“Now,” said Solomon, stepping off the ladder with the prolonged “Ha!” of one who breathes freely after long oppression, “it is my turn!”

“What are you about to do?” asked Richard, calmly.

“What! you think we are quits, Richard Yorke, do you? or at least that when I had seen you hung it would seem so to me?  You don’t know what it is to die here slowly in the dark; you are about to learn that.”

“Indeed.”

“Yes.  You complained the other day of my having used the law against you.  Well, you shall not have to reproach me with that a second time.  We are about to change places, you and I, that’s all.  You shall keep sentry down yonder till Death comes to relieve you.  It was indiscreet in you to venture here alone to dictate terms, my friend.”

Solomon’s voice was grating and terrible; it had grown hoarse with calling.  His form was gaunt and pinched with hunger; his eyes flashed like those of some starving beast of prey.

“I swear to you I came here to rescue you, and with no other purpose,” said Richard, earnestly.  “I was not afraid of you when you were hale and strong, and much less now when you are weakened with privation; but I do not wish to have your blood upon my hands.  I came here to-night—­”

“Is it night?” interrupted the other, eagerly.  “I did not know that it was night; how should I, in this place, where there is no day?  Well, that was still more indiscreet of you, for I shall get away unseen, while you lie here unsought.”