"That's who. And likely to have my neck
stretched for the trouble." That very day he had killed a King's
messenger---the man Arthur had despatched---for which he might well
taste the gallows.
And there was yet one more bitter savor added to the stew: he had
developed a weakness for the girl. What he felt for his `little
prisoner' could hardly be called love, and he knew that in time she
would have to be done away with. But to be killed by him
, tonight, before his desire had been met and served..... He sat down
on a middle landing, neither high nor low, trying to work it all
through in his mind.
For the Lord Purceville had misjudged him. What this man felt for him
was not loyalty, but merely a primal respect for his strength, such as
any pack animal might feel. And now that strength had begun to fail.
Me, I sticks with the meanest dog, and when he's killed I go my own
way
. But who was the meanest dog now, and which side would prevail?
Arthur was dead, but the power of the Crown.....
These were the things he tried to weigh, knowing that very soon he
must decide.
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