“You will have me killed?”
“Killed!—imprisoned till you grow wiser. I should not kill you yet.”
“Very well,” I said, trying to speak calmly; but a crowd of faces seemed to come before my eyes, and I believe my voice shook.
“What?” he raged out.
“I said ‘Very well,’” I replied. “I am ready.”
My words only drove away his anger; and he sat gazing at me for some moments before bursting out into a merry laugh.
“My dear Gil!” he cried, rising and coming closer to plant his hands upon my shoulders, giving me such pain that I felt faint, for one was over my wound, “it is of no use to fight. I tell you that everything you say makes you more mine. Come, my brave, true lad, accept your fate. Go into the next tent, and come back my chief. I have brought many of my best officers over to be presented to you—noble men who will place their swords at your feet, for they know what you have done, and they are eager to receive you as their brave young leader. There, I cannot be angry with you, boy. You master even me, and make me quite your slave. Kill, imprison you! It is impossible. You accept?”
I shook my head.
I thought he was going to flash cut again in his anger; but though his brow wrinkled up, it was only with a puzzled look; and then he looked alarmed, for I sank back half fainting, and for a few moments everything before me was misty.
But it passed off as I felt a vessel of cold water at my lips; and directly after I came quite to myself.