“That won’t do with me. Your one chance is to tell the truth,” I said.
“You’re a man, aren’t you, to call a woman a liar? Do you hear that, Ivan?” and she went to him and shook him. “Get up, pig: don’t sit shaking there when you hear me abused by this thief of the night.” She hauled him to his feet; and Volna took the opportunity of crossing to my side.
“You mustn’t talk like that here,” he said with a sort of hang-dog manner.
“I’d rather talk to you than to the woman there. Now you——”
“You hear that, Ivan. Strike him for that. You deal with him and I’ll look after the wench.” She pushed him toward me and seemed for the moment to infect him with some of her own desperate courage.
“If you don’t like it, go,” he said.
“No, they shan’t go now,” interrupted the fury. “We daren’t let them go now, you fool. You know. Go on.”
He still hung back, however, and then she suddenly wrenched open a drawer and took out a formidable looking chopper.
“Here, Ivan, now will you do it? Down with the man and leave the wench to me. It will be death if we don’t do it and get away.”
The remnants of his courage awoke when he felt the weapon in his hand; and I heard Volna catch her breath at the look which gradually stole into his beady, cruel eyes, as he looked at me.