“The block!” replied the fiery Sir Frederick, who had been partaking rather freely of his own wine. “What else for an adventurer like him, who conspires against his king? I’d chop off his head like a cabbage.”
“By so doing,” rejoined Sir Marmaduke, in a tone of satirical significancy, “you would only cause a score of like heads to sprout up in its place.”
“Let them sprout up! We’ll serve them the same way. We shall still have the power to do so—in spite of this parliament of traitors, which the king has been so foolish as to think of recalling around him.”
“Oh, dear father!” interrupted the pretty Dorothy, in a tone of pseudo-sentimentality.
“Don’t talk of chopping off heads. What a pity it would be if Captain Scarthe’s late prisoner were to lose his! I’m so glad he escaped from you, captain.”
“Why is this, girl?” asked Sir Frederick, turning rather sharply upon his daughter. “Why would it be a pity? I’ve heard you this very morning express the opposite opinion!”
“But I did not know then—that—that—”
“Know what?” interrogated several of the party, who encompassed the fair speaker.
“That there were others interested in the fate of the unfortunate man. Ah! deeply so!” A malicious glance towards Marion Wade did not escape the attention of the latter; and it was also noticed by Scarthe.
“Others interested in his fate. Who, pray?” demanded Sir Frederick, looking inquiringly towards his daughter.