Munro evidently understood this only in part; and, unaccustomed to attribute a desire to shed blood to any other than a motive of gain or safety, and without any idea of mortified pride or passion being productive of a thirst unaccountable to his mind, except in this manner, he proceeded thus, in a sentence, the dull simplicity of which only the more provoked the ire of his companion-- "What do you think to do, Guy--what recompense would you seek to have--what would satisfy you ?" The hand of Rivers grasped convulsively that of the questioner as he spoke, his eyes were protruded closely into his face, his voice was thick, choking and husky, and his words tremulous, as he replied, "His blood--his blood!" The landlord started back with undisguised horror from his glance.
Though familiar with scenes of violence and crime, and callous in their performance, there was more of the Mammon than the Moloch in his spirit, and he shuddered at the fiendlike look that met his own.

The other proceeded:-- "The trench in my cheek is nothing to that within my soul.

I tell you.
Munro, I hate the boy--I hate him with a hatred that must have a tiger-draught from his veins, and even then I will not be satisfied.

But why talk I to you thus, when he is almost in my grasp; and there is neither let nor hinderance?
Sleeps he not in yon room to the northeast ?" "He does, Guy--but it must not be! I must not risk all for your passion, which seems to me, as weak as it is without adequate provocation.

I care nothing for the youth, and you know it; but I will not run the thousand risks which your temper is for ever bringing upon me.