"I bade farewell to one whom I hoped on my return to make my wife. It
pains me to say these words, but you force them from me."
"Have I not degraded myself enough? Have I not suffered till I am
nearly mad that you tell me this?" came in piteous tones.
"Was I to blame!"
"You? No. It was our fate. What a triumph was mine, to find that I,
the master who had lived so long with my secret known but to poor Bart,
was now beaten, humbled--to find that day by day I was less powerful of
will--that my men were beginning to lose confidence in me, and were
ready to listen to the plots and plans of one whom I had spared, for him
to become a more deadly enemy day by day. Humphrey Armstrong, have you
no return to offer me for all I have suffered--all I have lost? Tell me
this is false. You do not--you cannot--love this woman."
He was silent.
"Is she so beautiful? Is she so true? Will she give you wealth and
power? Would she lay down her life for you? Would she degrade herself
for you as I have done, and kneel before you, saying, `Have pity on me--
I love you'?"
"Hush, woman!" cried Humphrey, hoarsely; "and for pity's sake--the pity
of which you speak--let us part and meet no more. I cannot, I will not
listen to your words. Give me my liberty, and let me go."
"To denounce me and mine?"
"Am I such a coward, such a wretch, that I should do this?" he cried,
passionately.
"Then stay. Listen: I will give you love such as woman never gave man
before. I loved your cousin as a weak, foolish girl loves the first man
who whispers compliments and sings her praises. It is to her all new
and strange, the realisation of something of which she had dreamed. But
as the veil fell from my eyes, and I saw how cowardly and base he was,
that love withered away, and I thought that love was dead. But when you
came my heart leaped, and I trembled and wondered. I shrank from you,
telling myself that it was a momentary fancy; and I lied, for it was the
first strong love of a lonely woman, thirsting for the sympathy of one
who could love her in return."
"Oh! hush--hush!" cried Humphrey. "I have told you that it can never
be."
"And she will never love you as I would--as I do," came in a low,
imploring whisper.
"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" cried Humphrey.
"Even if it were not so I could not--No, I will not speak. I only say,
for pity's sake let us part."
He paused, for there was no reply.
"You do not answer," he said, gently. "Think of what I say. I cannot
give you love. I should be unworthy of yours if I could. My friendship
I can give, and it shall be devoted to saving you from this life."
Still no reply; and the silence and darkness seemed deeper than before.
"You do not take my hand!" he said, bitterly. "You do not listen to my
words! Come, for heaven's sake be just to me. Say that I have spoken
well."
Still no reply, and he listened as he leaned forward; but there was
nothing to be heard but the beating of his own heart.
He leaned forward with outstretched hand, and bending down it touched
the cold stone of the altar.
He swept his hand to left and right, listening intently; but there was
no sound.
"Why do you not speak?" he said, sternly, as he realised the folly of
his first surmise.
His words seemed to murmur in the roof and die away, but there was no
reply.
He took a few steps in different directions, suddenly and quickly,
listening intently the while, feeling certain that he would hear her try
to avoid him; but all was silent, and at last he made for the entrance,
drew aside the curtain, and stood listening there.
Feeling sure that his visitor could not have gone that way he turned
back, and with outstretched hands paced the great chamber to and fro
till at each crossing he touched the stone wall.
Satisfied at length that he was alone, and that the great stone which
formed his couch had not been moved, he went once more to the great
curtain, pulled it aside, and passed through so as to go along the
corridor, for now that his visitor had left him the desire to speak
again came strongly.
Half-way down the passage he suddenly became aware of an advancing
light, and directly after he saw that it was gleaming from the brown
face of Bart.
"Hallo! What now?" he growled. "Where are you going?"
"The captain! Did you meet the captain?" said Humphrey hastily.
"Meet him! No. He came to me and sent me back," said Bart, grimly.
"Where is he, then?"
"At his quarters, of course."
Humphrey Armstrong turned upon his heel frowning, as he felt that a
great deal of what he had been saying must have been addressed to
vacancy.
He did not turn his head as he paced the corridor, but he was aware that
he was followed by Bart, whose lantern shed its faint yellow gleam upon
the great curtain till he had passed through, and all was in darkness as
he crossed the great chamber and threw himself upon the couch. But the
place was feebly illuminated directly after, as Bart drew the drapery
aside and peered in, holding the lantern well above his head to satisfy
himself that his prisoner was there.
Then he drew back, the great curtain fell into its place, and Humphrey's
jailer went slowly to his niche, where he set down his light, seated
himself, and with arms folded and chin resting upon his breast, moodily
brooded over the position.
"A curse!" he muttered more than once--"a curse! If he were dead there
would be peace once more, for she would forget him."
"Suppose," he thought, after a while--"suppose he was to be gone next
time she came. Well, he might have escaped, and after a time she'd be
at rest. It would be so easy, and it would be for her. And yet he's so
brave and so handsome, such a man for her! Better see her happy and
kill myself. Not that I need!" he said, bitterly; "for she said she'd
do that if aught happened to him."
"It's hard work," he muttered, after a while, "seeing the woman you love
care for some one else, and him lying there, and as good us asking you
to put him out of the way."
Bart's head sank lower as he crouched there, struggling with the great
temptation of his life, till at last he slowly rose, and, shading the
lantern within his breast, stepped cautiously toward the curtain which
draped the door. Stretching out his hand, he was in the act of drawing
it softly aside when there was a firm clutch at his shoulder, and a low
voice whispered in his ear--
"What are you going to do?"
Bart drew back, let fall the certain, and faced his leader.
"Nothing!" he said, abruptly.
"You villain!" whispered the buccaneer. "I read murder in your eye!"
"I'm tired of it," growled Bart. "I give it up. I know what I am. I
hopes for nothing; but when I see you go mad for one who hates you, and
who will bring ruin on us all, as well as make you unhappy, it makes me
mad too. He's an enemy, and I could kill anybody as gives you pain!"
"As I could, and would, slay you if you hurt a hair of the head of the
man I love!"
"The man you love!" muttered Bart, bitterly. "Time back it was the
other Captain Armstrong. Now it's him. Anybody but a poor fellow like
me!"
"You have told me again and again you were content to be my friend. Go
back to the quarters, and I'll watch myself. I have no one here I can
trust!"
Bart's face worked as they slowly returned along the corridor, and rage
and pain were marked in turn upon his features.
As they reached the place where he set down his lantern, he stood in a
bent attitude, as if pondering upon the words which had been said.
"Why are you waiting?" said the captain, imperiously.
"Them words o' yours," said Bart. "You said you could kill me."
"As I would have done," was the fierce reply, "if harm had befallen
him!"
"Better it had!" said Bart, bitterly. "Better it had, and you'd killed
me. Saved you from pain, and me from a life of misery. Am I to go?"
"Yes," said the captain, less firmly, as the man's tones betrayed the
agony of his spirit. "Go; I have no one now whom I can trust!"
"Don't say that to me," said the poor fellow, hoarsely, as he fell upon
his knees and clasped his hands. "Kill me if you like, captain, but
don't doubt me. All these years I've done nothing but try and serve you
faithful and well."
"And you would have slain the man I love!"
"Something tempted me, and it said that it was for your good, and when
it was like that I felt I could do anything."
"You would have betrayed me!"
"I would have killed him as give you pain, him who has changed you, and
broken you down to what you are. I knew as I now know, that it's ruin
to you!"
"Silence, man, and go!"
"What has he done for you!" cried Bart. "Nought but give you hard
words, and curse you ever since he has been here, and yet you go on
loving him!"
"What have I ever done for you, Bart, but give you hard words and cold
looks, and yet you have gone on loving me!"
"True," said Bart, hoarsely; "and so I shall till I die!"
"And so shall I, Bart, till I die!"
"Don't talk like that," he groaned. "It's better to live and suffer
than to talk of death. I give in--once more I give in!"
"Then go; I will watch!"
"No, captain; don't send me away! Trust me this once. I am faithful to
you!"
"Ay; but not to him."
There was a pause, and Bart seemed to be struggling hard with himself,
till he had won some terrible victory.
"Tell me," he said at last, "tell me to swear. I'll be as true to him
as I've been to you, and I'll swear it. I'll die for him, if you say I
am!"
"Then swear, Bart. Swear that I may depend on you as I would on myself!
That, for my sake, you will defend him from all evil, come when it
may!"
"Because you love him?" said Bart, slowly.
"Because I love him, man!"
There was a painful silence for a few minutes, and then, as he knelt
there, on the time-worn stones, the simple-hearted single-natured man
said, in a low husky voice--
"I swear it: so help me God!"
Bart rose slowly, with his breath coming and going as if after some
terrible struggle, and, as he stood there trembling, he felt his hand
seized and held tightly between two warm, moist palms.
He let it rest there for a few moments, and then snatched it away.
"What are you going to do?" whispered the buccaneer.
"Obey orders," said Bart relapsing, as it were, to his former manner.
"No; stay. I have only you to trust."
"And you'll leave me now along of him?"
"Without a feeling of dread, Bart; because the temptation would come in
vain."
"Are we all mad!" said Bart, softly, as he stood listening to the
retiring footsteps; and then he sank down upon the stones, with his back
to the wall, and the light shining upon his rugged head.