"You know me!" the King said, sitting over against him at the table, and scanning his face with dark earnestness.
"You are Charles Stuart, second of the name on the throne of England."
"You know I am in the possession of your secret—of the King's Secret; for of those dead it was known but to Oliver, as of those living it is now only known to yourself and to me."
"And the young Man, Richard?"
"He never knew it. His father never trusted him so far. He had doubts and suspicions, that was all."
"Thank God!" said the prisoner.
"What was Oliver's enmity towards you, that he should immure you here all these years?"
"I had served him too well. He feared lest the Shedder of Blood should become the Avenger of Blood."
"Are you sorry?"
"Sorry!" cried the Prisoner, with a kind of scream. "Had he a thousand lives, had I a thousand hands, I would do the same deed to-morrow." And he struck the right hand that was covered with the velvet glove with cruel violence on to the oaken table.