A MARIONI'S OATH
Two men stood facing one another on a narrow belt of sand, stripped to
the shirt, and with rapiers in their hands. One was the Sicilian,
Leonardo di Marioni, the other the Englishman, Lord St. Maurice. Their
attitude spoke for itself. They were about to fight for each other's
life.
It was a fair spot which their two seconds had chosen to stain with
bloodshed. Close almost to their feet, the blue waters of the
Mediterranean, glistening in the early morning sunlight, broke in tiny,
rippling waves upon the firm white sand. Inland was a semi-circle of
steep cliffs, at the base of which there were great bowlders of rock,
fern-covered and with hyacinths of many colors growing out of the
crevices, and lending a sweet fragrance to the fresh morning air. It was
a spot shut off from the world, for the towering cliffs ran out into the
sea on either side, completely enclosing the little cove. There was only
one possible approach to it, save by boat, and that a difficult and
tedious one, and, looking upward from the shore, hard to discover. But
on the northward side the cliffs suddenly dropped, and in the deft was a
thick plantation of aloes, through which a winding path led down to the
beach.
Perhaps of all the little group gathered down there to witness and take
part in the coming tragedy, Signor Pruccio, Lord St. Maurice's second,
was looking the most disturbed and anxious. His man, he knew, must fall,
and an ugly sickening dread was in his heart. It was so like a murder.
He pictured to himself that fair boyish face--and in the clear morning
sunlight the young Englishman's face showed marvelously few signs of the
night of agony through which he had passed--ghastly and livid, with the
stamp of death upon the forehead, and the deep blue eyes glazed and
dull. It was an awful thing, yet what could he do? What hope was there?
Leonardo di Marioni he knew to be a famous swordsman; Lord St. Maurice
had never fenced since he had left Eton, and scarcely remembered the
positions. It was doubtful even whether he had ever held a rapier. But
what Signor Pruccio feared most was the pale, unflinching hate in the
Sicilian's white face. He loathed it, and yet it fascinated him. He
knew, alas! how easily, by one swift turn of the wrist, he would be able
to pass his sword through the Englishman's body, mocking at his
unskilled defense. He fancied that he could see the arms thrown up to
heaven, the fixed, wild eyes, the red blood spurting out from the wound
and staining the virgin earth; almost he fancied that he could hear the
death-cry break from those agonized white lips. Horrible effort of the
imagination! What evil chance had made him offer his services to this
young English lord, and dragged him into assisting at a duel which could
be but a farce--worse than a farce, a murder? He would have given half
his fortune for an earthquake to have come and swallowed up that
merciless Sicilian.
A few yards away Martin Briscoe was standing with his second. He and
Lord St. Maurice, at this tragical moment of their lives, had been
nearer a quarrel than ever before. Briscoe, with some justice, had
claimed priority with the Sicilian, and had maintained his right in the
face of Lord St. Maurice's opposition. But the Sicilian had stepped in,
and insisted upon his privilege to decide for himself whom he should
first meet. The times had been distinctly stated, he reminded them, six
o'clock by Lord St. Maurice's second, and half-past six by Mr.
Briscoe's. He had arranged it so with a definite purpose, and he claimed
that it should be carried out. There was no appeal from his decision. He
was in the right, and Martin Briscoe, with a dull red glow of anger in
his homely rugged cheeks, had been forced to retire and become a most
unwilling spectator of what he feared could only be a butchery.
Signor Pruccio had delayed the duel as long as he could, under the
pretext of waiting for the doctor who had been instructed to follow
them, but who had not yet arrived. Twice the Sicilian had urged that
they should commence, and each time he had pleaded that they might wait
for a few minutes longer. To enter upon a duel _a l'outrance_, save in
the presence of a medical man, was a thing unheard of, he declared. But
at last this respite was exhausted, for the opposing second, with a
pleasant smile, had remarked that he himself was skilled in surgery, and
would be happy to officiate should any necessity arise. There was no
longer any excuse. Lord St. Maurice himself insisted upon the signal
being given. Sadly therefore he prepared to give it. Already both men
had fallen into position. The word trembled upon his lips.
A flock of sea-birds flew screaming over their heads, and he waited a
moment until they should have passed. Then he raised his hand.
"Stop!"
The cry was a woman's. They all looked round. Only a few yards away from
them stood Adrienne, her fair hair streaming loose in the morning
breeze, and her gown torn and soiled. She had just issued from the
sloping aloe plantation, and was trembling in every limb from the speed
of her descent.
The cloud on the Sicilian's face grew black as night.
"This is no sight for you to look upon!" he cried, between his teeth.
"You will not save your lover by waiting. You had better go, or I will
kill him before your eyes!"
She walked calmly between them, and looked from one to the other.
"Lord St. Maurice, I need not ask you, I know! This duel is not of your
seeking?"
"It is not!" he answered, lowering his sword. "This fellow insulted me,
and I punished him publicly in the restaurant of the Hotel de l'Europe
last night. In my opinion, that squared matters, but he demanded
satisfaction, and from his point of view, I suppose he has a right to
it. I am quite ready to give it to him."
The seconds had fallen back. They three were alone. She went up to the
Sicilian and laid her hand upon his arm.
"Leonardo, we have been friends, have we not? Why should you seek to do
that which will make us enemies for ever? I have broken no faith with
you; I never gave you one word of hope. I never loved you; I never could
have loved you! Why should you seek to murder the man whom I do love,
and make me miserable for ever?"
His face was ghastly, but he showed no sign of being moved by her words.
"Bah! You talk as you feel--just now!" he said quickly. "I tell you that
I do not believe one word. If he had not come between us, you would have
been mine some day. Love like mine would have conquered in the end.
Away! away!" he cried, pushing her back in growing excitement, and
stamping on the ground with his feet. "The sight of you only maddens me,
and nerves my arm to kill! Though you beg on your knees for his life,
that man shall die!"
"I shall not beg upon my knees," she answered proudly. "Yet, Leonardo,
for your own sake, for the sake of your own happiness, I bid you once
more consider. You would stain your hand with the blood of the man who
is more to me than you can ever be. Is this what you call love?
Leonardo, beware! I am not a woman to be lightly robbed of what is dear
to me. Put up your sword, or you will repent it to your dying day."
Her voice rang out clear and threatening upon the morning stillness, and
her eyes were flashing with anger. It was a wonderful tableau which had
grouped itself upon that little strip of sand.
The Sicilian was unmoved. The sight of the woman he loved championing
his foe seemed to madden him.
"Out of my way!" he cried, grasping his sword firmly. "Lord St. Maurice,
are you not weary of skulking behind a woman's petticoats? On guard! I
say. On guard!"
She suddenly flung her hands above her head, and there was what seemed
to be a miraculous increase in the little group. Three men in plain,
dark clothes sprang from behind a gigantic bowlder, and, in an instant,
the Sicilian was seized from behind.
He looked around at his captors, pale and furious. They were strangers
to him. As yet, he did not realize what had happened.
"What does this mean?" he cried furiously. "Who dares to lay hands upon
me? We are on free ground!"
She shook her head.
"Leonardo, you have brought this upon yourself," she said, firmly but
compassionately. "You plotted to murder the man I love. I warned you
that, to protect him, there was nothing which I would not dare. Only a
moment ago I gave you another chance. One word from you and I would have
thrown these papers into the sea," producing a packet from her bosom,
"rather than have placed them where I do now!"
A fourth man had strolled out of the aloe grove, smoking a long
cigarette. Into his hands Adrienne had placed the little packet of
letters, which he accepted with a low bow.
Even now the Sicilian felt bewildered; but as his eyes fell upon the
fourth man he started and trembled violently, gazing at him as though
fascinated.
"I do not understand!" he faltered.
The fourth man removed his cigarette from his teeth and produced a
paper.
"Permit me to explain," he said politely. "I have here a warrant for
your arrest, Count di Marioni, alias Leonardo di Cortegi, on two counts:
first, that you, being an exile, have returned to Italian soil; and
secondly, on a further and separate charge of conspiracy against the
Italian Government, in collusion with a secret society, calling
themselves 'Members of the Order of the White Hyacinth.' The proofs of
the latter conspiracy, which were wanting at your first trial, have now
been furnished."
He touched the little roll of papers which he had just received, and,
with a low bow, fell back. There was an ominous silence.
At the mention of his first name a deathlike pallor had swept in upon
the Sicilian's face. His manner suddenly became quite quiet and free
from excitement. But there was a look in his dark eyes more awful than
had been his previous fury.
"You have done a brave thing indeed, Adrienne!" he said slowly. "You
have saved your lover. You have betrayed the man who would have given
his life to serve you. Listen to me! As I loved you before so do I hate
you now! As my love for you in the past has governed my life, and
brought me always to your side, so in the days to come shall my undying
hate for you and for that man shape my actions and mold my life, and
bring me over sea and land to the farthest corners of the earth to wreak
my vengeance upon you. Be it ten, or twenty, or thirty years, they keep
me rotting in their prisons, the time will come when I shall be free
again; and then, beware! Search your memory for the legends of our race!
Was ever a hate forgotten, or an oath broken? Hear me swear," he cried,
raising his clasped hands above his head with a sudden passionate
gesture, "by the sun, and the sky, and the sea, and the earth, I swear
that, as they continue unchanged and unchanging, so shall my hate for
you remain! Ah! you can take your lover's hand, traitress, and think to
find protection there. But in your heart I read your fear. The day shall
come when you shall kneel at my feet for mercy, and there shall be no
mercy. Gentlemen, my sword. I am at your service."