IN WHICH BROOKE AND TALBOT STAND FACE TO FACE WITH DEATH.
This was to be to Brooke his last day in life. The thought of this
was ever present to both of them. The band would probably return
during the night, and in the morning the last scene would be enacted.
In the few days in which these two had known each other they had been
compelled to undergo great variations of feeling, and had come to
learn each other's inmost nature more thoroughly and intimately by
far than could have occurred after years of ordinary social
intercourse. Together they had faced danger and death; together they
had endured hope and fear, hunger and weariness, sorrow and despair.
The feelings of each had been stirred to the uttermost depth. Strong
natures were they, both of them; and they both were capable of
self-control, and they each knew how to wear an aspect of calmness
while all the time the soul within was in a tumult of terror or
distress. This night was to be the last on earth to one of them,
perhaps to both. So they said but little. They could but sit in
silence, and think, and feel, and suffer.
At midnight there was a wild clamor outside. The band had returned.
The prisoners went to the window, and there, standing side by side,
they looked out. Brooke thought that his hour might even now be at
hand, and the same fear occurred to Talbot. Neither spoke. So for a
long time they stood watching, listening, until at last the sounds
died away, all movement ceased, and all was still. The men had gone
to rest, and they now knew that there would be a respite until
morning. They stood looking out into the night. If a thought of
flight had ever occurred to either of them, they could now see that
such a thing was impossible. For they were environed with guards; and
in the room below and on the grass outside the followers of Lopez
lay between them and liberty.
"Brooke," said Talbot, "if you were now alone I know very well what
you would do."
"What?"
"You would draw your revolver, jump down, burst through the midst of
these men, and escape. Why not do so now?"
Brooke gave a short laugh.
"Do? Leave me! Fly! They cannot blame me if you fight your way
through them. Better to die fighting than be shot down helplessly."
"If I did so, they'd take out their vengeance on you."
"They would not."
"They would."
"Then you stay for me!"
"Yes."
Talbot drew a long breath.
"You are bent on dying, Brooke, not to save me, but merely to prevent
them from being too hard to me."
"They will let you go," said Brooke. "They will be satisfied--when I
am gone."
Talbot seized his hands in a convulsive grasp.
"Oh, Brooke!" she groaned. "Can nothing move you? What is life worth
to me at such a cost? Oh, Brooke, fly! Leave me. Fight your way out.
I will follow you."
"You cannot. If you tried, you would be sure to be captured. I might
escape as you say, but you could not."
"Oh, Brooke, try--fly! Oh, I could kill myself rather than endure
this any longer."
"Talbot!" said Brooke, suddenly shaking her off.
"What, Brooke?"
"You're a fool!"
"Yes, Brooke."
"You're a fool!" he repeated, in a voice that sounded like a gasp.
"Why will you persist in talking in this way, and blight and shatter
all my strength of soul? It's too late, I tell you. I will not. I
will not do anything that can expose you to fresh danger; your peril
is great enough now, but there is a bare chance for you if nothing
happens. When they have got one life they may feel inclined to spare
the other."
"Never!" said Talbot. "They shall not. I will not have it."
"You must!" said Brooke, fiercely.
"I tell you I will not!" cried Talbot, in a passionate voice.
"D--n you!" roared Brooke. "I tell you you must, and you shall!"
At this there was a noise below. Some of the guard had awakened.
Brooke drew a long breath, and retreated from the window into the
darkness. Talbot went after him.
"Talbot," said Brooke, in a voice that was strangely sweet yet
unutterably sad--"Talbot, do you want to break my heart?"
"Brooke," said Talbot, in a low, thrilling tone. "Is it your heart
only, do you think, that is now almost breaking?"
After this there was a deep silence, broken only by their own quick
breathing.
Brooke felt a hand in his. He caught it in a convulsive grasp; and
the two hands clung to each other, and throbbed with the vehement
pulsations of two hearts that now beat with intensest feeling.
"Let me go," wailed Brooke, at last, snatching his hand away. He
gasped for breath. He retreated farther into the darkness. Talbot
stood motionless and trembling. There was silence again for a long
time. It was at last broken by Brooke.
"Come, Talbot," he said, with feverish rapidity and a wretched
assumption of carelessness. "Let's engage in conversation. What shall
we talk about? The weather? Or the crops? Or shall we talk politics?
By-the-bye, can't you sing something? I tell you what--it isn't fair.
You make me do all the singing. But I don't mind. You're a good
listener, at any rate. If you like I'll sing a hymn."
And he began, singing through his nose:
"Oh, a maiden she lived in the south countrie,
And a werry fine maid, my boy, was she,
For her hair was as red as red can be;
So off we go to Marymashee.
And a jolly young cove fell in love with she,
Says he, 'My lass, will you marry me?'
One foot up and t'other foot down,
And away we travel to London town."
Again there was a sound below. Brooke's song had roused the guard.
Talbot gave a wild start.
"They're coming!" she gasped, in a tone of horror. "They're
coming--at last. They won't wait!"
"Pooh!" said Brooke, whose voice by this time had regained its old
careless ring; and he whined on:
"Cats don't come at half-past eight
Tap-tap-tappiug at the garding gate!"
Talbot gave a sigh that sounded like a groan. The sounds below
subsided, and all was still once more.
So the night passed.
Morning came.
A man brought up bread and wine; but now there was no thought of
eating, even for the sake of saving strength. Neither one spoke, nor
did either venture to look at the other.
At length they were summoned outside. Lopez was there, with half a
dozen men around him. Farther away were the rest of the men, watching
the scene. On the right were a dozen men with rifles. Brooke was as
cool as usual. Talbot was calm, but deathly pale.
"Senor Brooke," said Lopez, "I am a man of but few words, and few
need now be said. I have given you a long respite--longer than I
said. What is your decision? Will you go with us and show us where
the Carlists took the English ladies?"
"Senor Captain," said Brooke, calmly, "I am quite unable to give you
any information about the ladies. I don't see what I can do."
"Lead us to the place," said Lopez.
Brooke shook his head.
"I can't say any more," said he.
"Very well," said Lopez, quietly. "Then you must die."
"You can certainly kill me, Senor Captain, but what good will that
do?"
"Oh, no particular good," said Lopez, "but the law is that spies
shall be shot at once, and I merely gave you a chance. You're a bold
fellow, and I should like to spare you--that's all."
"Thanks, Senor Captain. And may I make one request?"
"Name it, senor."
"This young priest is free, is he not?"
"Certainly."
"You will suffer him to go without molestation."
"Certainly."
"He is young, and a stranger in the country. He doesn't know a word
of the language, and is in despair about--about me. Would it be
possible for him to procure a guide for part of the way, at least to
Vittoria, or some nearer railway station?"
"I will furnish him with one," said Lopez, "all the way."
"Thank you, senor," said Brooke.
"Senor," said Lopez, "it pains me deeply to see you rush on to
destruction."
"Senor Captain," said Brooke, "you are a man of honor and generosity.
I wish I could do what you ask."
Lopez shrugged his shoulders. Then he sighed. Then he took a final
look at Brooke.
After this he motioned to two of his men. These two came forward and
led Brooke to a place opposite the file of armed men. One of the men
offered to bind his eyes, but Brooke motioned him away.
"I don't want it," said he.
As he said this, Talbot came up and stood by his side. Lopez walked
down toward the file of men and stood at a point on one side,
half-way between the condemned and the soldiers.
"Talbot," said Brooke, in a low voice, "go away."
"Brooke," said Talbot, "will you not live?"
"What! in dishonor?"
"Oh, my God!" groaned Talbot. "What shall I do? He will die--and I've
killed him!"
"Talbot," said Brooke, in a husky and unsteady voice, "go away.
You'll make me die two deaths. You are safe. Lopez has promised to
send a guide with you to Vittoria."
"A guide?" said Talbot, in a strange voice.
"Think of me--sometimes," stammered Brooke.
Talbot turned and looked at him. Brooke saw the look and all that was
conveyed in it, and then obstinately shut his eyes.
Lopez now turned to see if the two friends had said their last say.
He saw a singular sight. The "priest" was standing directly in front
of Brooke and facing the file of soldiers. At that moment also Brooke
opened his eyes again and saw Talbot in front of him.
He stepped forward and seized her arm.
"Oh, Talbot! oh, Talbot!" he groaned. "This is worse than death. Why
will you torment me?"
Talbot shook him off. Brooke threw a despairing look at the captain,
and shrank back. Talbot folded her arms and stood in front of him.
Had she only been able to speak Spanish she would have told them
all--how this man had run into danger on her account, how he was now
dying through her, how she was resolved to die either for him or with
him. She would have told them all that, but that would not have
revealed the half of all the eloquent story which stood unfolded in
her attitude and in her face.
She stood erect, her arms folded on her breast, facing thus the file
of soldiers.
Her look, however, was as though she saw them not. Her eyes were
turned toward them, yet their gaze was fixed on vacancy. She thus
showed her face--looking thus with steadfast eyes--a calm face,
serene, tranquil, white as marble, and as motionless. All that Brooke
had seen there which had made him think of the Angel Gabriel, and all
that Lopez had seen there which made him think of the Apostle John,
was now clearly manifest in that noble and expressive countenance. It
was the face of a pure, a lofty, an exalted nature, full of
profoundest feeling and matchless self-control--the face of one who
was resolved to die, the face of a martyr, the face of one who was
standing in full view of Death, who was waiting for his approach, and
was undismayed.
As for Brooke, he at last experienced all that he had dreaded. He was
utterly overcome. White, ghastly, trembling from head to foot, he
stared at Talbot with something like horror in his face, yet he could
not move. He stood shuddering, and speechless.
At such an astonishing and unexpected spectacle the very soldiers
gazed in awe.
Hardened as they were, there was something in Talbot's determined
self-sacrifice, and in Brooke's manifest anguish of soul, which
overcame them all, and hushed them all alike into wonder and silence.
All eyes were fixed on the two who thus stood before the file of
soldiers. At length there arose murmurs--strange murmurs indeed to
come from such men, for they indicated pity and compassion.
Upon Lopez the effect of all this was overwhelming. He had seen it
from the beginning. He saw the face of Talbot, the agony of Brooke.
At first there was only wonder in his looks, then came profound
agitation. His sword dropped from his hand.
He turned away. Now, as he thus turned away, had he encountered
fierce, cruel, blood-thirsty faces, he might have come back to his
first resolve, and recovered from the emotion which was unmanning
him; but the faces of his men were full of pity and of wonder. His
fierce followers were themselves overcome, and thus the agitation of
Lopez was heightened.
"I am a soldier," he cried; "I am not a bandit. I am not a
cut-throat. It's all very well for us to kill our enemies in battle,
but, my lads, to kill people in this way is butchery, and if they
want butchers they'll have to get others. I must talk to these men
again, especially to this priest."
With these words Captain Lopez dismissed his men and then turned to
Brooke.
"Senor," said he, "I have some more questions to ask. I will
therefore postpone proceedings until after further examination."
Talbot understood the actions of Lopez, and comprehended the meaning
of his words.
There was an immense revulsion of feeling within her--from that
preparation for death to this restoration to life; yet so perfect was
her self-control that she lost not one whit of her caution, and
vigilance, and outward calm. She did not trust herself to look at
Brooke. She merely turned away and stood with her eyes fixed on the
ground. Brooke stood watching her with a haggard stare. He did not
look at Lopez; but as he caught his words he muttered something in
reply which was unintelligible to Lopez, and quite incoherent in
itself.
The prisoners were now conducted back again to their place of
confinement. Here at last, removed from all strange eyes, the
fortitude of Talbot, so long sustained, gave way utterly. Under the
pressure of so tremendous a reaction her womanly nature reasserted
itself. She fell prostrate upon the floor, and lay there, overwhelmed
by a vehement passion of tears. As for Brooke, he dared not trust
himself to soothe her; he dared not even so much as look at her, but
seated himself as far away as possible, and buried his face in his
hands.