The most ignorant scullion in your kitchens could perform it given that he had the spirit." He moistened his lips with his tongue, and his eyes looked dead as a snake's.

Suddenly he rose and took a step towards the armour that was piled about a great leathern chair.

Then he paused and turned to me once more.
"Help me to put it on," he said in a voice that he strove to render steady.

Yet scarcely had I reached the pile and taken up the breast-plate, when he recoiled again from the task.

He broke into a torrent of blasphemy.
"I will not sacrifice myself," he almost screamed.