“Back!” roared Magog, in a voice of thunder, “or you rush upon your death.”
“You had better yield,” cried Xit. “You cannot escape. You will more easily cut your way through the solid beams of Traitors’ Gate than you will hew a passage through these living walls.”
“I will cut a way through both sooner than surrender,” rejoined Osbert. “Follow me, friends.”
And he was about to fling himself upon the giants, who awaited his attack unmoved, when his desperate purpose was averted by the sudden ringing of the alarm-bell. This sound, which proclaimed that the fortress was alarmed, paralysed his energies, and caused him to drop the point of his sword, while the rest of the conspirators looked equally disheartened. Other sounds, calculated to increase their apprehensions, were now heard, and the trampling of feet, accompanied by the clatter of arms, showed that a number of men were collecting in the outer ward. It was plain that the conspirators were betrayed, and the glances they exchanged betokened that they felt so.
“You had better yield with a good grace,” cried Xit, “and not compel us to take your swords from you by force.”
“I will die rather than yield,” cried Osbert Clinton.
“So will we all,” responded the others.
“Resistance is in vain,” cried Lovel, suddenly changing his manner. “It is time to throw off the mask. You are prisoners to the King.”
“Ha! it is thou who hast brought us into this snare,” cried Dudley. “Take the reward of thy treachery,” he added, passing his rapier through his body.
“Ha! I am slain!” exclaimed Lovel, as he fell backwards into the water.