"Thou hast heard whether I do or not, and what was but suspicion is now proved by thy manner."
"Who, then, art thou?"
"It matters not. You must die. The last link that binds you to life is broken. You will soon learn if the proverb be true that saith there is but a step between this world and the next, for you will speedily measure it. The step is rather a wet one, but there is a fire priests prate about that will soon dry you." This irony and sarcasm was spoken with the most unfeeling manner, while hatred and malice seemed to dictate each word.
"Surely you cannot, you will not be so inhuman as to do such foul murder!" cried the youthful secretary, placing himself between Kyd and Fitzroy, and stretching forth his hands deprecatingly.
"Who is the blacker murderer, sir—this man who robs of me my good name, or I, who merely take his life?" inquired Kyd, haughtily.
"I robbed you not of it," said Fitzroy. "'Tis true, I have talked to many of thy deeds. But your good name! 'twas already gone—thrown away by your lawless acts of piracy."
"'Tis false! I had never pirated when I took thee prisoner. Smuggling a few silks and laces, or costly wines; defending my ship against officious gentlemen under king's colours, who fain would board me, seeking contraband wares—this have I done, and will do again on like occasion; but pirated I had not then."
"A distinction without a difference; a mere quibble upon words, to cheat thy rankling conscience into security."
"Have it thy own way," said the pirate, with haughty carelessness. "I will not quarrel with a man who has but five brief minutes to use his tongue in. Is all ready there at the gangway? We're losing time here idly. Ho! lead him to his death!"
"Impossible," exclaimed Fitzroy, indignantly; "you will not carry out a suggestion so infernal."