“Yes,” he said, “I am master here now of everything; so go and take off all that tawdry rubbish. You will never make a soldier, and I shall tame down all this bullying haughtiness. You never thought my day would come when I was forced to put up with the insults and jeers of a miserable cub of a boy. But every man has his day. Your party has gone down at last, and mine is in power. Ah, you may pretend not to hear me, and that you treat everything I say with contempt! Judas, am I, because I saved bloodshed by a diplomatic stroke? Well, we shall see. You’ll come cringing to me soon.”
“When my father returns, and, if you have not already been hung for a traitor, he punishes you as you deserve. Shall I cringe to you, then?”
“Your father,” said Pawson, mockingly. “Your proud swashbuckling father is dead,—killed as he deserved, with scores of his fighting bullies. You may look to me as your father now. Your mother and I thought it better to end this sham defence at once. Hah! does that sting you? I thought I should manage it at last. Yes, she thought with me. A fine, handsome woman still, Roy, and a clever one, though she did pet and spoil her idiotic cub of a son. But there, I forgive her, and we understand each other fully now. Ha, ha! I thought that would touch you home!”
Roy nearly staggered as he heard these words, and the next moment he would have flung himself at the traitor’s throat; but just then a friendly hand was laid upon his shoulder, and the officer said—
“I have given orders for your wounded men to be seen by our doctor. Meanwhile, you had better come with me.”
He passed his arm through Roy’s, and turned his back on Pawson, marching the lad towards the private apartments of the castle; while the traitor stood gazing after them, stung as deeply as his victim now in turn.