“Mervynite?” Haverly put in.
“Yes, Mervynite, if you like, Silas,” returned the scientist with a smile.
“Talking of Nordhu,” remarked the baronet, “reminds me that we must decide on the fate of our prisoner.”
Turning, he spoke for some moments with Chenobi.
“The king says the priest may choose the manner of his death,” he announced.
“Must he die?” Mervyn questioned, his mild nature revolting against the idea of an execution.
“He must die!” repeated Seymour sternly. “Both Chenobi and I have sworn it. The fiend murdered our friend’s brother, and it was not his fault he did not add our names to his list of victims. God alone knows how many poor wretches he has sacrificed to that devilish spider! So vile a monster is not fit to live.”
Although his own good judgment told him that Nordhu merited death, yet the idea of executing him could not be other than repugnant to the scientist’s nature. It seemed too much like cold-blooded murder.
“But——” he began again.
“No ‘buts,’ if you please,” retorted the baronet sharply; “his death is decided upon. It only remains for him to choose the manner of it. Come, Chenobi, let us bring our prisoner forth.”