“In God’s name, woman, do not speak so loud. There is no need for frenzy. I did but jest when I spoke of molesting you.”
“I am in no jesting mood.”
“You do not need to tell me that. I am quite willing to further your behests, if you but trust me and tell me what you want.”
“Can you expect me to trust you?” asked the girl, coming back to the table.
He was now standing on the other side, all self-confidence gone from his attitude, speaking almost in a whisper, so anxious was he that she should have no excuse for raising her voice again.
“I suppose I have not earned your trust.”
“Oh, but you have. I trust you implicitly because you stand under the shadow of the scaffold, and at a word from me the bolt is drawn. You will postpone all thought of revenge until your neck is out of the noose; of that I am very well convinced. I refuse to make terms with you, but I give my commands which you must rigidly follow unless you court calamity. You will take Armstrong to the King, and cease to block his way. You will see that we are free to leave Oxford, and are unmolested while we are within these walls. One false move and you bring your doom upon you. While we are in Oxford the rope is round your throat, so pray to the demon who aids you that we may make speedy and easy exit. Shudder to think that your fate hangs on the action of a woman, wholly unstrung, and that even a suspicious look from any officer in this garrison may instantly precipitate the disaster you apprehend.”
“I implore you to be calm, madam. I swear I will carry out your orders to the letter. Do not, I beg of you, take panic at any chance word by another.”
“Unlock the door and leave me. See that you do not come again.”