CHAPTER XXVII. HOW BENET KILLIGREW AND I FOUGHT IN THE LIGHT OF THE BEACON FIRE.
"Of course you expect no mercy from me?" said Otho presently.
"I know you are too good a pupil of your master to dream of such a thing," I replied, and even as I spoke I wondered how long it would take the messenger I had sent to reach Hugh Boscawen, and whether help could arrive before Otho had completed his designs.
"Be careful, Roger Trevanion," he said bitterly.
"Why?" I asked. "I know you will do your worst whatever may happen. Say your say, man, and unless you gag me I shall say mine."
"Yes, I will say my say. Oh, I know what you are thinking. Well, we have sentinels in every direction, and the moment there is a sign of any friends of yours coming, we shall be warned, and that moment you shall die."
My heart sank as he said this. For although I do not think I fear death more than another man, I did dread the cruelty of this man. Besides, I longed for life; never, indeed, had it been so sweet to me as now. Only a few hours before my dear maid Nancy had laid her head on my shoulder and had sobbed out her love to me. I knew, too, that she would have a bitter enemy in Otho, and if I were dead she would be a prey to his many wiles. Still I determined not to betray fear. At any rate, he should not have the comfort of making me plead for mercy.
"Then say on," I said, "your thoughts can give you little comfort; you have been outwitted, beaten all along the line. I can die, but not before I've drawn your teeth."
"Except that Charles will not land."