My words evidently stung him.
"Have a care, Roger Trevanion," he said. "This morning we both used a well-worn proverb—'he who laughs last laughs best.' I think that applies to me, for in a few minutes you will have gone to that place where there will be little laughter, and where you will be in company with the personage who describes himself as travelling to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it."
"Scarcely," I replied. "You could never be happy without your constant friend and master."
I heard Uncle Anthony chuckle in his quiet way, but Otho went on still in cold, cruel tones:
"I have not yet decided what death you shall die. I think, however, that I shall increase the brilliancy of the light yonder by using you as fuel. It will be excellent preparation for you too."
"That would be just like you," I said; "you are too great a coward to try and kill me in open fight. However, let's have done with it as quickly as possible."
I said this, I must confess, with difficulty; my throat was dry, and even then I could almost feel the fire burning my flesh. At the same time I knew that such words would make him desire to prolong my agony, and, in truth, his devilish desire to taunt me and make me suffer saved my life.
"All in good time, Roger Trevanion," he said coolly. "There is no hurry for a few minutes, and the devil can wait. I have a few things to tell you, too. I have had some slight training for the priesthood, and I wish to give you a few comforting messages before you depart, just as a priest should."
"Go on," I said grimly, but indeed I was sore afraid.