"So it is!" hissed Cervera, with vicious intensity. "I intend to do it! Do you hear, Nick Carter? I intend to do it!"
"Oh, yes, I hear you."
"Why don't you shrink? Why don't you plead for mercy?"
"What's the use?"
She answered him with a laugh that made the room ring.
"Besides," added Nick, "it's not my style to show the white feather."
"We'll see! Caramba! we will see!"
She came nearer to him, crouching before him, so near that her breath fell hot upon his cheeks. Then, with a quick movement, she pressed the point of the blade through his clothing, till it pricked the flesh above his heart.
With his arms bound, with his ankles secured to the legs of the chair, Nick appeared utterly at her mercy—of which she had none.
Despite himself, Nick shrank slightly from the wound, and for the first time shuddered at the peril by which he was menaced, and from which there seemed to be no avenue of escape.