Ordener made no answer; he was threatened on every side, and there was not an inch of his breast uncovered by a sword-point or the mouth of a pistol.
“Are you afraid?” asked the little man, with a sneer.
“If your hand were upon my heart, instead of these swords,” coldly answered Ordener, “you would see that it beats no faster than your own, if indeed you have a heart.”
“Ah, ha!” said the little man; “so you defy us! Well, then let him die!” And he turned his back.
“Give me death,” returned Ordener; “it is the only thing that I would accept from you.”
“One moment, Mr. Hacket,” said an old man, with a thick beard, who stood leaning on a long musket. “You are my guests, and I alone have the right to send this fellow to tell the dead what he has seen.”
Mr. Hacket laughed.
“Faith, my dear Jonas, let it be as you please! It matters little to me who judges this spy, so long as he is condemned.”
The old man turned to Ordener.
“Come, tell us who you are, since you are so boldly curious to know who we are.”