“I want my liberty,” I cried angrily.
“Well, boy, I offer you liberty,” he said quietly; “liberty and honour. I only stand in your way when I see that, in a blind madness, you are going to rush headlong to destruction. You do not know; I do.”
I was silent.
“Where would you have gone to-night,” he said, “supposing that you had not fallen and killed yourself, or been cut down by my guards?”
“To my friends.”
“You have no friends,” he said sternly. “You would have escaped, perhaps, to the wild country or the forest to starve, or to be killed by the wild beasts. No one would give you food, and you would scarcely have found one who would not have sought to slay you as an enemy. You say you would, have fled to your friends. Where are they?”
“You should know best,” I said sullenly. “You have been fighting with them.”
“Yes,” he cried, with his eyes flashing. “I have been fighting with enemies of my country. I have nothing to hide from you. I will tell you all, so that you may know, and see how mad it is for you to fight against the decrees of fate. Yes, I fought with those you call your friends to-day, and drove them before me till after sundown. My men are following them now to complete the pursuit, scattering them like dead leaves before the blast which heralds the monsoon. You heard the firing?”
“Yes,” I said sadly.
“And know that it grew more distant as they were beaten off, till they turned and fled. I came back then. I cannot fight with flying foes. It was a mad attempt, a last desperate struggle, just a little flashing up of an expiring fire. By now it is dead, and you will hear of them no more.”