“I shall not go.”
“They have provided for that contingency.”
“Well?”
“They have told me to repeat to you their demands from the young master.”
“Silence! I do not wish him to know them!”
“Would you rather they mount the stairs and kill him?”
A deep silence followed. Sophia twisted about her arms, and groaned in despair. Her beautiful features were convulsed by powerless rage and exasperated dismay. Grinding her teeth, she flew to the mantel-piece, seized a short, sharp dagger, which she brandished aloft with a terrible skill.
“Milo, you will not abandon me?”
“Never! I will die for you, that you know well!”
“Marcel is armed; so we are three! Oh! I will defend him with my last breath!”