“Very well,” he hissed through his teeth with concentrated rage; “then let him live. After all, it is your business, and not mine.”
“If he were the Devil himself I would not kill him,” said the triumphant Norbith.
With these words he turned to Ordener.
“Look here,” he added, “you must be a good fellow as you have my poor friend Nedlam’s pass. We are the royal miners. We have rebelled to rid ourselves of the protectorate of the Crown. Mr. Hacket, here, says that we have taken up arms for a certain Count Schumacker; but I for one know nothing about him. Stranger, our cause is just. Hear me, and answer as if you were answering your patron saint. Will you join us?”
An idea flashed through Ordener’s mind.
“Yes,” replied he.
Norbith offered him a sword, which Ordener silently accepted.
“Brother,” said the youthful leader; “if you mean to betray us, begin by killing me.”
At this instant the sound of the horn rang through the arched galleries of the mine, and distant voices were heard exclaiming, “Here comes Kennybol!”