"But you must not speak to her!" he cried, like one beside himself,—"not to her."
"Why, pray?"
"Because," he cried, evidently forgetting the relation in which I stood to him,—"because she is my betrothed wife! Because she belongs to me—only! Because no one but myself must lay hands on her!"
"If she be your betrothed wife, she should love you," I said. "And if she loves you, perfect trust should exist between you."
"But there be enemies! There be those who——" he hesitated, evidently realizing that he had said more than he had intended. "Will you promise?" he cried.
"And if I do not?" I asked.
"I told you there were dungeons here as well as battlements," he said. "If you will not give your sacred promise, you shall lie there until it is my pleasure to set you free!"
"Tell me this, Otho Killigrew," I said, after thinking a moment. "You say you are betrothed to this maid. Does she willingly become your wife?"
"That is naught to you!"
In truth it was not; and for a moment I was in sore straits what to promise. I had no interest in the maid. She had paid me but scant courtesy that night, and why should I care whom she wedded? Moreover, if I refused to promise I was sure that Otho would carry out his threat. Even were I friendly disposed towards her and John Polperro, I could do them no good by refusing to abide by Otho Killigrew's conditions. Then I remembered the look of loathing on the maid's face as she spoke of the Killigrews, and instinctively I felt that such a marriage would be worse than death to her. I am anything but a sentimental man, neither do I give way to foolish fancy; but at that moment I saw the maid pleading with me not to promise.