have gone on hating him just the same as before. With Ulick it is
different, for he really cared."
"But now," interrupted Constans, impatiently, "it is no longer a
question of choice, but of a decision."
"I have already come to it," she returned. "I must escape from Doom; I
cannot stay here for even another day."
In their absorption neither noticed how the door leading into the
central hall slowly opened. It remained ajar, its very attitude that of
a listener.
"You want my help," said Constans, half to himself. He was casting over
in his mind the effect that the death of Boris might have upon Quinton
Edge's intrigues, and he could not but conclude that Esmay had become a
factor more necessary than ever in their successful development. Ulick
was now the sole heir to the old Dom Gillian, and he was hostile to
Quinton Edge. Only through Ulick's passion for this slip of a girl
could the Doomsman hope to control him. What an admirable stroke, then,
to snatch the card from his hand before he had a chance to play it.
"I will help you," he continued, aloud. "But where to find a boat?"
"There is a canoe which is generally kept moored at the garden dock; you
can see it from the terrace. It is a good, stout dugout, and, oh----"
"Well?"
"There is Nanna, my sister; I cannot go without her."
"She is in no danger," said Constans, with calm indifference. "The boat
will carry only two--is that it?"
"Yes."
"Very well, then; Nanna must remain behind."
"It is impossible to leave her; I have promised."
"No; it is her coming that is impossible, and because I say so."
The girl remained silent. Had she yielded to a will stronger than her
own? The door seemed to hesitate; then it closed noiselessly.
Esmay crossed over to one of the windows opening on the garden grounds
and flung the shutters open. The coolness of the later afternoon breeze
fell gratefully upon her hot cheeks; the horizontal, reddish-rays of the
declining sun emphasized the warm coloring of her hair and complexion,
and brought out again those curious carmine flecks in her eyes of topaz
that Constans had noticed once or twice before. An odd combination, but
he realized now that he had thought it pretty. The girl divined the
unspoken word and drew back a trifle.
Retreat is the first and essential principle of feminine strategy, and
in practice it should suggest the ambuscade to even the most thoughtless
of masculine minds. But it never does. Constans stepped up a little
closer.
"Nanna must go with me," repeated the girl, hurriedly. "You will help us
to get out the boat and tell me in what direction Croye lies. We shall
find our way, never fear, for I know the stars, and Nanna can paddle all
day long as well as a man."
"And what will you do when you get to Croye?" asked Constans, gently.
"Must you hear the whole truth about your uncle, Messer Hugolin? It is
not that he is unable but unwilling to turn a hand in your behalf. The
humblest shelter, the meanest food--I know what you would say. But not
even a night's housing in the cattle-byre or a plate of broken victuals
is to be had from Messer Hugolin unless one is prepared to pay, and
roundly, too. Remember that I, too, am of his blood, and have dwelt in
his house."
The girl's eyes grew cloudy and troubled. "There is the town itself,"
she faltered. "Surely among so many people there must be some chance for
a livelihood--there is work---"
"Not of the honest kind and for such as you," he retorted. "Must I make
you understand? Look at yourself, then, in the glass behind you."
Suddenly he took her hand between both his own. "Who would dare hint at
work to those fingers so slimly white? But one may live delicately, even
in Croye."
The girl recoiled as though from a blow, and Constans felt the shame of
having actually struck one. "But not you," he stammered, and raged
inwardly at himself. She forgave him in a look. "But, Esmay," he said,
humbly. She smiled to him to go on.
"You are thinking of the world beyond, but indeed you do not know
it--its cruelty to the weak, above all to a woman. Here, at least----"
"Here the least of all," she interrupted, but would not look at him to
make her meaning clearer.
"Yet you see how I could not let you go alone or even with Nanna," he
urged.
"Yes, I understand that. What is it that you wish me to do?"
Constans started. Was he, then, prepared to make himself responsible for
this young creature's future? Of course she could not remain longer in a
position so dangerous and equivocal. But why should she not be
reasonable? It was true that Nanna was quite capable of managing the
boat; he had only to assist them to get away and give the word to Ulick
that he might follow. Ulick would go to the end of the world to serve
her.
A thoroughly sensible solution of the problem, and then in a twinkle
Constans forgot that he had ever wanted Esmay to be reasonable, forgot
the faith owed to a friend and the vengeance sworn against an enemy,
forgot times and seasons and the peril in which they stood, forgot all
things save that he was a man and she was a woman, and that he had
suddenly come to desire her above all else in life.
"A woman, and some day he would come to know what that meant." Now he
knew.
Esmay stood waiting for the answer to her question.
"You cannot go alone," he said, in a half-whisper, "and your sister's
protection is useless. You will have to trust yourself to me."
Esmay had turned away her head, but a treacherous mirror intercepted the
confession in her eyes and flung it back to him who had compelled its
utterance. Now a man may never yet have seen that look on a woman's
face, but he need not fear lest he fail to recognize it when at last his
time comes. Constans saw, and suddenly the primeval passion of the world
seized and shook him. "I want you," he said, and would have taken
her--then stopped, confounded and appalled.
Through the open window came the sharp, staccato yelp of a hound at
field. Yes; the dogs were out, and already they were at work, ranging in
great semicircles, alert with the joy of the chase. There was Blazer,
with his tawny muzzle, and behind him Fangs, the great, black bitch,
half mastiff and half bloodhound, the saliva dripping from her jaws as
she ran. Constans drew a deep breath as he watched them. Already they
were nearing the pavilion; in a few seconds at the farthest they would
be giving tongue upon the striking of his scent. He must decide quickly
then, and he turned to Esmay.
A black suspicion gathered in Constans's mind as he looked upon her mute
agony and misinterpreted it.
"What is it?" he asked, with rising anger, but she answered no word. The
memory of the ancient betrayal rushed back upon him.
"Perhaps another bracelet of carbuncles?" She shrank back as though from
a blow.
"Esmay!" he said, roughly, and shook her by the shoulders, not being in
fear for himself but intent upon knowing the truth, however incredible.
Then as she still gave no sign he flung her from him and strode away,
the flame of a fierce anger in his heart. To die here--the base fate of
a runaway slave upon whose trail the master has set his hounds--no, it
should not be! Yet, with only his bare hands, for there was not even a
billet of wood lying about--well, if it must be-- Then he bethought him
of the boat that Esmay had told him was always kept moored at the garden
landing-stage. He glanced out and saw that the canoe had disappeared. He
turned to the girl and announced the fact. "If indeed it were ever
there," he added. It seemed as though her eyes pointed to the door
leading to the other part of the house, but he shook his head. "I would
rather meet it in the open," he said, coldly.
He considered a moment longer, and threw off his black soutane, having
determined to take to the water, although it was truly a desperate
chance, the current running like a mill-race with the ebbing tide, and,
moreover, being choked with ice-floes. Ah, there was Blazer's bay, he
must lose no time. Without another glance at that silent, rigid figure,
he stepped quickly through the long window and gained the portico.
Something snapped in the girl's throat, her lips quivered hysterically,
and she laughed aloud, a flood of silvery sound.
XX
THE SILVER WHISTLE BLOWS
Constans remained motionless at the window. Every instinct of
self-preservation urged him onward, but yet he stopped and listened to a
girl's laughter. It ceased, and he sprang forward--too late! for already
the blood-hounds were upon him.
Fangs, the bitch, was in the lead, and as she sprang Constans kicked out
savagely, his heavy boot catching the animal squarely on the flank. The
portico had no guard-railing, and the dog, taken off her balance, was
precipitated to the terrace below. Constans shouted exultantly, but
there was still Blazer with whom to deal. Before he could recover, the
brute had him by the throat and was bearing him downward; man and dog
rolled together on the stone-paved floor of the gallery. Something
passed with the swift rustle of wind-distended garments, but Constans
could see nothing, his eyes being blinded by the acrid foam from the
animal's jaws. Fortunately, the high collar of leather that he wore
prevented the dog's teeth from fastening on his actual throat, but that
advantage could not endure, and already he could feel that the animal
was shifting its hold for a better one. Then, as he despaired, his right
hand struck upon something round and hard in the outside-pocket of his
doublet; it was the handle of the loaded revolver that he had carried
for a month past. A supreme effort and he managed to seize it; without
attempting to draw it from the pocket he pulled the trigger. The report
followed, and immediately he felt the dog's grip relax; he pushed the
dead weight from off his chest and rose to his feet.
Up from the river terrace came Esmay, and behind her ran Quinton Edge.
Constans turned to meet them; then, as they gained the portico, he saw
the girl's face go white and realized dizzily the danger that still
menaced him. But he was past caring now, and so stood stupidly in his
tracks as the great, black bitch crawled up behind him, her belly close
to the ground, and crouching for her rush. He heard Quinton Edge shout
and saw him raise his hand; the dog, recognizing her master's voice,
even as she leaped, was quick to obey, arching and stiffening her back
in mid-air so as to break the force of her spring; he saw her fall in a
heap at his feet, and lie there whimpering. Whereupon, for a brief
moment, the trees seemed to bow themselves before him and the sky grew
black.
When again he found himself, he saw Quinton Edge bending over the dead
hound and inspecting, with curious attention, the ragged hole in its
chest. But the Doomsman asked no questions; he spoke, lightly and
carelessly, as was his wont.
"Fortunate that I happened to be returning from an excursion on the
river, for my pets are a difficult pair to manage, even for one who
carries a thunderbolt in his doublet-pocket. You scored nicely on poor
Blazer, but I venture to think that Fangs would have avenged her mate
had I let her have her way." He stopped and patted the brute's huge
head. "My compliments, old woman; doubtless this visitor of ours will
always remember you respectfully as one who feared neither God, man; nor
devil, but only Quinton Edge. Now be off with you." The hound licked her
master's hand and limped away. Quinton Edge straightened up and passed
his lace-edged handkerchief across his lips. Then, with smooth irony:
"An honor, indeed, to entertain so unexpected a guest at Arcadia House;
to what happy chance am I indebted?"
"That I am here should be condemnation sufficient for your purpose,"
said Constans, slowly. "I have nothing to add to it."
He hardly troubled to look up as he spoke; exhausted and dispirited as
he was, what did it matter what he answered.
"Then you do not even plead a first offence?"
Constans remained silent. Like a disobedient school-urchin, he told
himself, glowering sulkily in the presence of his tutor. Between this
man and himself lay an enmity that was deeper than the grave, and yet to
Quinton Edge he was merely the petulant boy to be scolded and punished
or, even more contemptuously, ignored. Was he never to stand before him
as man to man?
"It is just as well," continued the Doomsman, "since there have been
other eyes who have kept watch for me. I am not entirely uninformed
concerning a romantic adventure of two days ago at the pavilion in the
garden. But perhaps on this count the maid may choose to answer for
herself, speech being a woman's prerogative, and ofttimes her
opportunity."
But Esmay, holding herself as straight and white as the portico column
behind her, made no sign of even hearing, and Quinton Edge fell upon a
sudden earnestness of speech and manner.
"Then since neither of you have a word to say, you must perforce listen
to me of a matter equally concerning you, Esmay Scarlett, a daughter of
the Doomsmen, and you, Constans, son of Gavan of the keep. For to-day
the fate of the world lies between us three--a ball that we may toss
from hand to hand.
"You know both the strength and the weakness of Doom. We have lost
heavily in the expedition to the south; every man in the reserve must
now be called upon to fill up the ranks. Dom Gillian is fast sinking
into the grave, where Boris already lies. Ulick, who must now succeed,
in the ordinary course, has only physical courage to recommend him. That
is not enough if Doom is to remain mistress of the world.
"Yet if our weaknesses are patent, no less apparent are our springs of
power. Here in Doom and here alone will you find that unity of action
which makes for empire. Were the Stockaders and the House People to join
hands they could overwhelm us in a night, but they will not, since
jealousy digs an ever-widening chasm. Moreover, it is a strong position
that we hold here in this wilderness of stone, when every brick is a
man. There is no need for boasting; this is the truth, as you know.
"Yet there is one thing lacking--a man to lead and a brain to guide.
Ulick may possess the strong arm, and doubtless I have the wits, but I
fear that, like oil and water, we, too, shall never mix. Besides, I may
grow weary of the business, or the time may come when I must turn my
back upon it all. Yet I could not be content that chaos should reign in
my stead. I must leave a man behind me, and that man is you, Constans,
son of Gavan.
"Nay, but hear me out. Apostate, renegade--I know what you would say.
Yet what are these but words--mere words. You are alone in the world,"
and here for just an instant Quinton Edge dropped his eyes, although the
even tones of his voice never wavered. "You owe no debt of gratitude to
either Stockader or Houseman. A crust from one, a bone from the other;
they would have done as much for a starving dog. You see that I have
watched you longer than you have been aware.
"And so I offer you the first and last of the things that all men crave.
The first is love, and she who stands there is fair, else why do I find
you in my garden? The last is power, and it is the world that I put
under your feet."
He stopped abruptly and seemed to catch at something mounting upward in
his throat. Then he continued:
"There is still the blood-debt between us, and I promise you it shall be
paid and to the last drop. The only condition is that you must leave it
to another to name the day of reckoning; that privilege belongs neither
to you nor to me. Rest assured that when that day does come, I shall be
ready; ay, more than ready to pay my score."
Again silence fell between them for the space of a full minute. Quinton
Edge turned to adjust the jabot of fine lace about his neck, and that he
might have both hands free he laid upon a wicker garden table the
object he had been carrying. Constans saw that it was a bunch of
May-bloom, a glorious cluster of pink-and-white blossom.
"I am waiting for my answer," said Quinton Edge.
Constans tried to command his voice, but he could not speak, and Quinton
Edge turned to Esmay:
"We have both of us omitted to remember where courtesy is first due.
Madam, I should have informed myself of your pleasure in this matter."
"No, oh no!" she stammered.
The Doomsman laughed. "Yet I must ask you to reconsider; nay, even to
use what arts you possess to induce this short-sighted young gentleman
to accept my generous proposition. For, mind you, there is a consequent
upon his refusal--and yours."
The hidden fire in the girl's eyes seemed to leap forth, a bolt of fiery
scorn that would have fused, upon the instant, metal less resisting.
"A consequent--of course. And it is----"
"A lofty one. He mounts either to Dom Gillian's chair or to the yard arm
of the _Black Swan_. A spy's death for a spy--it is but justice."
Esmay turned to Constans.
"Surely it were shame enough for any woman to find herself made part of
such a bargain. But my humiliation goes even deeper, for I must parade
my poor wares before you like any huckster, beseeching you to buy. My
lord, it is for your life, and I am but a flower that it may please you
to wear to-day and cast aside to-morrow. Buy of me, my lord, and at what
price you will--it is for your life. But be quick; he will not wait
over-long." She plucked at his sleeve. "Do you not understand? The men
are coming; you can hear the rattle of the sheaf-blocks at the mast-head
of the galley--Constans!"
But Constans looked only at his enemy, Quinton Edge. "I am ready," he
said, coldly.
Esmay passed through the long window and so into the drawing-room. To
her overly excited senses the signal was already sounding in her ears,
and a gradual faintness mounted to her brain, even as water rises about
the swimmer advancing through the shingle to the first shock of the
surge. Then, in deadly truth, she heard Quinton Edge blow his whistle,
and the darkness closed in upon her.
For the second time the Doomsman raised the pipe to his lips. It slipped
from his fingers and fell to the garden-table at his side.
As he bent to recover it the subtle, uprising scent of the May-bloom
struck him like a blow; a dark flush overspread his brow. He spoke,
quickly, insistently:
"The canoe is still at the landing-stage. Go, while there is yet time."
He seized Constans by the shoulders, slewing him around and pushing him
towards the steps that led to the terrace.
"Go, and forget all that you have seen and heard in Doom the Forbidden.
You and your secrets are known; be content to leave my people with
theirs. And to me my memories."
The madness of protest, of resistance, was still upon Constans, and yet
he found himself yielding to this stronger will. Mechanically, he leaped
to the terrace below, and from thence ran on to the landing-stage just
as Kurt, the Knacker hobbled around the corner of the house at the head
of a squad of sailors from the _Black Swan_. An arrow or two flew wild,
but Constans quickly had the boat in the current, which was running out
on a strong ebb-tide, and so was safe from further molestation. Half a
mile down-stream he ventured to make a landing. The dozen or so of
rifles and store of ammunition that he had left in hiding at this point
were too precious a treasure to be abandoned without an effort. Yet
hardly had he transferred the last case of cartridges to his boat than
he became aware that the Doomsmen were close upon him, and this time he
got a bruised shoulder from a spent cross-bolt by way of a parting
salute. The canoe was heavily laden, but fortunately the wind had gone
down with the sun, and the water was unusually smooth. Constans bent to
his paddle, shaping his course to the southwest, the direction of his
old home on the West Inch.
How cool and pure the air! How clean and sweet the stars that shone
above him! Little by little the fever and the fret of life departed from
him, and he was at peace. He wondered now at the madness that had
possessed him, at the passion that had thrilled him at the touch of a
woman's hand. He had come so near to proving himself a traitor, a
recreant to all that was sacred in his life. And then a hound had bayed,
and a girl had laughed, and the shining bubble had vanished into the
air. Beguiled, betricked, betrayed--base repetition of the ancient
injury. What a fool he had been!
Then, his heart being sore, he tried to comfort himself after a man's
fashion. It had been all a mistake from the beginning; he had never
really loved this amber-haired enchantress; it had been the infatuation
of passion only, and he had escaped; let him be thankful. Or even
granting that love lay behind, was not all of life before him? One day
had passed, but another was soon to dawn, a day for new purposes, fresh
consecrations. In his present exalted mood, even his long-cherished
vengeance upon Quinton Edge seemed a small, a contemptible thing. What
were either his love or his hate in the world-drama that was being
enacted under his eyes. Again, as in days long past, he thrilled to the
thought of a new and larger life, the redemption of humanity, the
establishment of peace and righteousness, the shadow of Doom forever
lifted from the land. There were the rifles and ammunition lying at his
feet, potencies irresistible; surely this was the fulness of time. What
a splendid vision! How glorious his own part in it might be! And so,
through the night, he dreamed and drifted.
* * * * *
It was a week later that Esmay looked into Nanna's face bending over
her, and knew that remembrance had come again. She had listened
silently, as Nanna, between fits of weeping and stormy self-reproach,
made her confession, of her eavesdropping at the door, of her jealous
terror lest she should be separated from her darling, of her new-born
hatred of this Constans, who dared to stand between herself and Esmay,
of the final madness that had tempted her to the unchaining of the dogs.
Yet, when it was finished, Esmay had put forth her hand and drawn the
rough, tear-stained face close to her own. "You could not know, dear,"
she said, quietly, "and it was all for love of me."
It was not until the end of another week, a sunny day, when she had
ventured out for the first time, that Esmay found courage to ask the
question that had risen so often to her lips.
"When did the _Black Swan_ sail away?"
"That same morning," answered Nanna. "Although it's a living wonder that
I should have cared to take notice of anything beyond your face that lay
so still and white upon my arm."
"And our master--he carried out his purpose?"
Nanna looked puzzled. Then she answered, carelessly, "Does he ever fail
in that?"
There was a pause, and Esmay turned again to look upon the shining
river.
"He might have saved his life--and lost it," she whispered to herself.
"I am glad for him. And for myself--for now he knows."
XXI
OXENFORD'S DAUGHTER
Constans had now spent nearly a fortnight in the valley of the
Swiftwater, and, while he had been hospitably received and entertained,
he made but small progress in his mission; it seemed as though this
second propaganda were also doomed to failure. There was neither
unanimity nor enthusiasm among these rustic seigneurs; they were content
to leave well enough alone, and the rest of the world could shift for
itself, as in the past.
"Doom will not trouble us, and why should we concern ourselves about the
flaying of a few fat burghers. Mayhap a little blood-letting now and
then is efficacious in warding off the falling sickness, and in the end
the churls get it back out of us. Your own worthy uncle, Messer Hugolin,
has squeezed me more than once. As for your ideal republic, stuff of
dreams, lad! Take an old man's word for it."
Piers Major, of the River Barony, spoke decidedly, yet withal not
unkindly, for he had been blood-brother to Constans's father, and he
liked the boy for his own sake. Constans had gone; to him last of all;
unconsciously he had been counting upon his support, whatever else
failed, and to be repulsed in this quarter was bitter indeed. The old
man looked into the clouded face before him and continued, earnestly: