Edge dropped his eyes, although the
even tones of his voice never wavered. "You owe no debt of gratitude to
either Stockader or Houseman. A crust from one, a bone from the other;
they would have done as much for a starving dog. You see that I have
watched you longer than you have been aware.

"And so I offer you the first and last of the things that all men crave.
The first is love, and she who stands there is fair, else why do I find
you in my garden? The last is power, and it is the world that I put
under your feet."

He stopped abruptly and seemed to catch at something mounting upward in
his throat. Then he continued:

"There is still the blood-debt between us, and I promise you it shall be
paid and to the last drop. The only condition is that you must leave it
to another to name the day of reckoning; that privilege belongs neither
to you nor to me. Rest assured that when that day does come, I shall be
ready; ay, more than ready to pay my score."

Again silence fell between them for the space of a full minute. Quinton
Edge turned to adjust the jabot of fine lace about his neck, and that he
might have both hands free he laid upon a wicker garden table the
object he had been carrying. Constans saw that it was a bunch of
May-bloom, a glorious cluster of pink-and-white blossom.

"I am waiting for my answer," said Quinton Edge.

Constans tried to command his voice, but he could not speak, and Quinton
Edge turned to Esmay:

"We have both of us omitted to remember where courtesy is first due.
Madam, I should have informed myself of your pleasure in this matter."

"No, oh no!" she stammered.

The Doomsman laughed. "Yet I must ask you to reconsider; nay, even to
use what arts you possess to induce this short-sighted young gentleman
to accept my generous proposition. For, mind you, there is a consequent
upon his refusal--and yours."

The hidden fire in the girl's eyes seemed to leap forth, a bolt of fiery
scorn that would have fused, upon the instant, metal less resisting.

"A consequent--of course. And it is----"

"A lofty one. He mounts either to Dom Gillian's chair or to the yard arm
of the _Black Swan_. A spy's death for a spy--it is but justice."

Esmay turned to Constans.

"Surely it were shame enough for any woman to find herself made part of
such a bargain. But my humiliation goes even deeper, for I must parade
my poor wares before you like any huckster, beseeching you to buy. My
lord, it is for your