"What does it mean? Tell me
plainly; am I a slave?"
"Servulus, non servus, my dear boy. What is the odds whether you serve
Dick Burke, a booby farmer, or Tulaji Angria, a prince and a man of
intelligence? Yet there is a difference, and I would give you a word of
counsel. Angria is an oriental, and a despot; it were best to serve him
with all diligence, or--"
He finished the sentence with a meaning grimace.
"Mr. Diggle, you can't mean it," said Desmond. "Don't leave me here! I
implore you to release me. What have I ever done to you? Don't leave me
in this awful place."
Diggle smiled and began to move away. At the sight of his malicious smile
the prisoner's despair was swept away before a tempest of rage.
"You scoundrel! You shameless scoundrel!"
The words, low spoken and vibrant with contempt, reached Diggle when he
was some distance from the shed. He turned and sauntered back.
"Heia! contumeliosae voces! 'Tis pretty abuse. My young friend, I must
withdraw my ears from such shocking language. But stay! if you have any
message for Sir Willoughby, your squire, whose affections you have so
diligently cultivated to the prejudice of his nearest and dearest, it
were well for you to give it. 'Tis your last opportunity; for those who
enter Angria's service enjoy a useful but not a long career. And before I
return to Gheria from a little journey I am about to make, you may have
joined the majority of those who have tempted fate in this insalubrious
clime.
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