Raymond’s face was set like a flint.  He had no power to rid himself of the presence of his foe, but yield one inch to persuasion or threat he was resolved not to do.  For one thing, his distrust of this man was so great that he doubted if any concessions made by him would be of the smallest value in obtaining him his release; for another, his pride rose up in arms against yielding anything to fear that he would not yield were he a free man in the midst of his friends.  No:  at all costs he would stand firm.  He could but die once, and what other men had borne for their honour or their faith he could surely bear.  His lofty young face kindled and glowed with the enthusiasm of his resolution, and again the adversary’s face darkened with fury.

“Thou thinkest perhaps that I have forgot the art of torture since thou wrested from me one victim?  Thou shalt find that what he suffered at my hands was but the tithe of what thou shalt endure.  Thou hast heard perchance of that chamber in the heart of the earth where the Lord of Navailles welcomes his prisoners who have secrets worth the knowing, or treasures hidden out of his reach?  That chamber is not far from where thou standest now, and there be willing hands to carry thee thither into the presence of its Lord, who lets not his visitors escape him till he has wrung from their reluctant lips every secret of which he desires the key.  And what are his clumsy engines to the devices and refinements of torture that I can inflict when once that light frame is bound motionless upon the rack, and stretched till not a muscle may quiver save at my bidding?  Rash boy, beware how thou provokest me to do my worst; for once I have thee thus bound beneath my hands, then the devil of hatred and cruelty which possesses me at times will come upon me, and I shall not let thee go until I have done my worst.  Bethink thee well ere thou provokest me too far.  Listen and be advised, ere it be too late for repentance, and thy groans of abject submission fall upon unheeding ears.  None will befriend thee then.  Thou mayest now befriend thyself.  If thou wilt not take the moment when it is thine, it may never be offered thee again.”

Raymond did not speak.  He folded his arms and looked steadily across at his foe.  He knew himself perfectly and absolutely helpless.  Every weapon he possessed had been taken from him whilst he lay unconscious.  His armour had been removed.  He had nothing upon him save his light summer dress, and the precious heart hanging about his neck.  Even the satisfaction of making one last battle for his life was denied him.  His limbs were yet stiff and weak.  His enemy would grip him as though he were a child if he so much as attempted to cast himself upon him.  All that was now left for him was the silent dignity of endurance.

Sanghurst made one step forward and seized the arm of the lad in a grip like that of a vice.  So cruel was the grip that it was hard to restrain a start of pain.