Shall you fail them in such an hour as this ?" He sank, limp as an empty scabbard, to a chair.
"I dare not go.

It is death," he answered miserably.
"And what but death is it to remain here ?" I asked, torturing him with more zest than ever he had experienced over the agonies of some poor victim on the rack.

"In bearing yourself gallantly there lies a slender chance for you.

Your people seeing you in arms and ready to defend them may yet be moved to a return of loyalty." "A fig for their loyalty," was his peevish, craven answer.

"What shall it avail me when I'm slain!" God! was there ever such a coward as this, such a weak-souled, water-hearted dastard?
"But you may not be slain," I urged him.