"DEIREADH GACH COGAIDH, SITH" (THE END OF ALL WARFARE, PEACE)
Alan did not wait till Ynys was out of sight, before he demanded the
reason of Judik's strange appearance and stranger summons.
"Why are you here again, Judik Kerbastiou? What is the meaning of this
haunting of the forbidden home domain? And what did you mean by urging
Mlle. Ynys to go back at once to the château?"
"Time enough later for your other questions, young sir. Meanwhile come
along with me, and as quick as you can."
Without another word the woodlander turned and moved rapidly along a
narrow path through the brushwood.
Alan saw it would be useless to ask further questions at the moment;
moreover, he was now vaguely alarmed. What could all this mystery
mean? Could an accident have happened to the Marquis Tristran? It was
hardly likely, for he seldom ventured into the forest, unless when the
weather had dried all the ways: for he had to be wheeled in his chair,
and, as Alan knew, disliked to leave the gardens or the well-kept yew
and cypress alleys near the château.
In a brief while, however, he heard voices. Judik turned, and waved to
him to be wary. The forester bent forward, stared intently, and then
beckoned to Alan to creep up alongside.
"Who is it? What is it, Judik?"
"Look!"
Alan disparted a bough of underwood which made an effectual screen. In
the glade beyond were four figures.
One of these he recognized at once. It was the Marquis de Kerival. He
was, as usual, seated in his wheeled chair. Behind him, some paces to
the right, was Raif Kermorvan, the steward of Kerival. The other two
men Alan had not seen before.
One of these strangers was a tall, handsome man, of about sixty. His
close-cropped white hair, his dress, his whole mien, betrayed the
military man. Evidently a colonel, Alan thought, or perhaps a general;
at any rate an officer of high rank, and one to whom command and
self-possession were alike habitual. Behind this gentleman, one of the
most distinguished and even noble-looking men he had ever seen, and
again some paces to the right, was a man, evidently a groom, and to all
appearances an orderly in mufti.
The first glance revealed that a duel was imminent. The duellists, of
course, were the military stranger and the Marquis de Kerival.
"Who is that man?" Alan whispered to Kerbastion. "Do you know?"
"I do not know his name. He is a soldier--a general. He came to Kerival
to-day; an hour or more ago. I guided him through the wood, for he and
his man had ridden into one of the winding alleys and had lost their
way. I heard him ask for the Marquis de Kerival. I waited about in the
shrubbery of the rose garden to see if ... if ... some one for whom
I waited ... would come out. After a time, half an hour or less, this
gentleman came forth, ushered by Raif Kermorvan, the steward. His man
brought around the two horses again. They mounted, and rode slowly
away. I joined them, and offered to show them a shorter route than that
which they were taking. The General said they wished to find a glade
known as Merlin's Rest. Then I knew what he came for, I knew what was
going to happen." "What, Judik?"
"Hush! not so loud. They will hear us! I knew it was for a duel. It was
here that Andrik de Morvan, the uncle of him whom you know, was killed
by a man--I forget his name."
"Why did the man kill Andrik de Morvan?"
"Oh, who knows? Why does one kill any body? Because he was tired of
enduring the Sieur Andrik longer; he bored him beyond words to tell, I
have heard. Then, too, the Count, for he was a count, loved Andrik's
wife."
Alan glanced at Judik. For all his rough wildness, he spoke on occasion
like a man of breeding. Moreover, at no time was he subservient in his
manner. Possibly, Alan thought, it was true what he had heard: that
Judik Kerbastiou was by moral right Judik de Kerival.
While the onlookers were whispering, the four men in the glade had
all slightly shifted their position. The Marquis, it was clear, had
insisted upon this. The light had been in his eyes. Now the antagonists
and their seconds were arranged aright. Kermorvan, the steward, was
speaking slowly: directions as to the moment when to fire.
Alan knew it would be worse than useless to interfere. He could but
hope that this was no more than an affair of honor of a kind not meant
to have a fatal issue; a political quarrel, perhaps; a matter of
insignificant social offence.
Before Raif Kermorvan--a short, black-haired, bull-necked man, with
a pale face and protruding light blue eyes--had finished what he had
to say, Alan noticed what had hitherto escaped him: that immediately
beyond the glade, and under a huge sycamore, already in full leaf,
stood the Kerival carriage. Alain, the coachman, sat on the box, and
held the two black horses in rein. Standing by the side of the carriage
was Georges de Rohan, the doctor of Kerloek, and a personal friend of
the Marquis Tristran.
Suddenly Kermorvan raised his voice.
"M. le Général, are you ready?"
"I am ready," answered a low, clear voice.
"M. le Marquis, are you ready?"
Tristran de Kerival did not answer, but assented by a slight nod.
"Then raise your weapons, and fire the moment I say 'thrice.'"
Both men raised their pistols.
"You have the advantage of me, sir," said the Marquis coldly, in a
voice as audible to Alan and Judik as to the others. "I present a good
aim to you here. Nevertheless, I warn you once more that you will not
escape me ... this time."
The General smiled; scornfully, Alan thought. Again, when suddenly
he lowered his pistol and spoke, Alan fancied he detected if not a
foreign accent, at least a foreign intonation.
"Once more, Tristran de Kerival, I tell you that this duel is a crime;
a crime against me, a crime against Mme. la Marquise, a crime against
your daughters, and a crime against...."
"That will do, General. I am ready. Are you?"
Without further word the stranger slowly drew himself together. He
raised his arm, while his opponent did the same.
"_Once! Twice! Thrice!_" There was a crack like that of a cattle-whip.
Simultaneously some splinters of wood were blown from the left side of
the wheeled chair.
The Marquis Tristran smiled. He had reserved his fire. He could aim now
with fatal effect
"It is murder!" muttered Alan, horrified; but at that moment the
Marquis spoke. Alan leaned forward, intent to hear.
"_At last!_" That was all. But in the words was a concentrated longing
for revenge, the utterance of a vivid hate.
Tristran de Kerival slowly and with methodical malignity took aim.
There was a flash, the same whip-like crack.
For a moment it seemed as though the ball had missed its mark. Then,
suddenly, there was a bubbling of red froth at the mouth of the
stranger. Still, he stood erect.
Alan looked at the Marquis de Kerival. He was leaning back, deathly
white, but with the bitter, suppressed smile which every one at the
château knew and hated.
All at once the General swayed, lunged forward, and fell prone.
Dr. de Rohan ran out from the sycamore, and knelt beside him. After a
few seconds he looked up.
He did not speak, but every one knew what his eyes said. To make it
unmistakable, he drew out his handkerchief and put it over the face of
the dead man.
Alan was about to advance when Judik Kerbastiou plucked him by the
sleeve.
"Hst! M'sieur Alan! There is Mamzelle Ynys returning! She will be here
in another minute. She must not see what is there."
"You are right, Judik. I thank you."
With that he turned and moved swiftly down the leaf-hid path which
would enable him to intercept Ynys.
"What is it, Alan?" she asked, with wondering eyes, the moment he was
at her side. "What is it? Why are you so pale?"
"It is because of a duel that has been fought here. You must go back at
once, dear. There are reasons why you...."
"Is my father one of the combatants? I know he is out of the château.
Tell me quick! Is he wounded? Is he dead?"
"No, no, darling heart! He is unhurt. But I can tell you nothing more
just now. Later ... later. But why did you return here?"
"I came with a message from my mother. She is in sore trouble, I fear.
I found her, on her couch in the Blue Salon, with tears streaming down
her face and sobs choking her."
"And she wants me ... now?"
"Yes. She told me to look for you, and bring you to her at once."
"Then go straightway back, dear, and tell her that I shall be with her
immediately. Yes, go--go--at once."
But by the time Ynys had moved into the alley which led her to the
château, and Alan had returned to the spot where he had left Judik,
rapid changes had occurred.
The wheeled chair had gone. Alan could see it nearing the South Yews;
with the Marquis Tristran in it, leaning backward and with head erect.
At its side walked Raif Kermorvan. He seemed to be whispering to the
Seigneur. The carriage had disappeared; with it Georges de Rohan, the
soldier orderly, and, presumably, the dead man.
Alan stood hesitant, uncertain whether to go first to the Marquise,
or to follow the man whom he regarded now with an aversion infinitely
deeper than he had ever done hitherto; with whom, he felt, he never
wished to speak again, for he was a murderer, if ever man was, and,
from Alan's standpoint, a coward as well. Tristran de Kerival was the
deadliest shot in all the country-side, and he must have known that,
when he challenged his victim, he gave him his death sentence.
It did not occur to Alan that possibly the survivor was the man
challenged. Instinctively he knew that this was not so.
Judik suddenly touched his arm.
"Here," he said; "this is the name of the dead man. I got the servant
to write it down for me."
Alan took the slip of paper. On it was: "_M. le Général Carmichael_."