'Prisoners; and under sentence of death.'
'Where?'
'In my camp.'
'Why?' she muttered. But alas! she knew; she knew already.
'They are hostages for your good behaviour,' he answered in his cold, mocking tone. 'If their principal satisfies me, good; they will go free. If not, they die--to-morrow.'
'To-morrow?' she gasped.
'To-morrow,' he answered ruthlessly. 'Now I think we understand one another.'
She threw up her hand suddenly, as if she were about to vent on him all the passions which consumed her--the terror, rage, and shame which swelled in her breast. But something in his gibing tone, something in the set lines of his figure--she could not see his face--checked her. She let her hand fall in a gesture of despair, and shrank into herself, shuddering. She looked at him as at a serpent--that fascinated her. At last she murmured--
'You will not dare. What have they done to you?'
'Nothing,' he answered. 'It is not their affair; it is yours.'