A moment later he repeated his question. “Are you ready?”
“One moment more! Alas! must I die?”
“Turiaf, I have no time to waste.”
So saying, Orugix signed to the halberdiers to stand away from the prisoner.
“One word more, brother; do not forget to give the packet to Count d’Ahlefeld.”
“Never fear,” replied Nychol. He added for the third time: “Come, are you ready?”
The unfortunate man opened his lips, perhaps to plead for another brief delay, when the impatient hangman stooped and turned a brass button projecting from the floor.
The plank gave way beneath the victim; the poor wretch disappeared through a square trap-door with a dull twang from the rope, which was stretched suddenly and vibrated fearfully with the dying man’s final convulsions.
Nothing was seen but the rope swinging to and fro in the dark opening, through which came a cool breeze and a sound as of running water.
The halberdiers themselves shrank back, horror-stricken. The hangman approached the abyss, seized the rope, which still vibrated, and swung himself into the hole, pressing both feet against his victim’s shoulders; the fatal rope stretched to its utmost with a creak, and stood still. A stifled sob rose from the trap.