from the useful services of my King; wasted good years of my life,
trusting to pressure and help to come from England, which never
came; twisted the rope for my own neck to keep honour with the
dishonourable Doltaire, who himself had set the noose swinging; and,
inexpressible misery! involved in my shame and peril a young blithe
spirit, breathing a miasma upon the health of a tender life. Every
rebellious atom in my blood sprang to indignant action. I swore
that if they fetched me to the gallows to celebrate their Noel,
other lives than mine should go to keep me company on the dark trail.
To die like a rat in a trap, oiled for the burning, and lighted by
the torch of hatred! No, I would die fighting, if I must die.

I drew from its hiding-place the knife I had secreted the day I
was brought into that dungeon--a little weapon, but it would serve
for the first blow. At whom? Gabord? It all flashed through my mind
how I might do it when he came in again: bury this blade in his neck
or heart--it was long enough for the work; then, when he was dead,
change my clothes for his, take his weapons, and run my chances to
get free of the citadel. Free? Where should I go in the dead of
winter? Who would hide me, shelter me? I could not make my way to
an English settlement. Ill clad, exposed to the merciless climate,
and the end death. But that was freedom--freedom! I could feel my
body dilating with the thought, as I paced my dungeon like an
ill-tempered beast. But kill Gabord, who had put himself in danger
to serve me, who himself had kept the chains from off my ankles and
body, whose own life depended upon my security--"Come, come, Robert
Moray," said I, "what relish have you for that? That's an ill game
for a gentleman. Alixe Duvarney would rather see you dead than get
your freedom over the body of this man."