“For the present, Señor Killigrew.”
“And why have you spared me?”
“I know not. A whim, perhaps.”
“A happy whim for me.”
“Be not so sure of that, my bantam. I fancied you dead long since, you see, in spite of the Señorita La Notte. There was something of surprise that made me spare you the dagger—something of curiosity that made me beg your life of the Captain General—curiosity to see in what way it were best to kill men like you who die hard.”
“We can die but once,” I returned doggedly.
“I’m not so sure. You don’t die easy, my master. And you own such fine tough sinews it were a pity to have you foisted off upon the devil with such small display of resistance.”
“It is the torture then?” I asked.
“It will be, my friend, as the Adelantado shall decide. I have a fancy that in a short time thou wilt become a valiant servant of the Church. I have known a heretic rabid as thyself, turn speedily Christian at the stake.”