THE DEATH OF DENORTIER
A light hand shook me by the shoulder. I moved uneasily, and rubbing my
eyes looked about the hut; all was inky darkness.
"Hist!" said a voice, which I recognized as Windango's, "let the Eagle
follow silently behind me." And taking my hand in his, he led me
quietly across the hut and into the night air.
As I looked down at the sleeping warrior in the doorway, I saw
something red trickling slowly down his broad breast. Bending over him,
I looked. A great gash was over the heart, and from it was streaming a
torrent of blood. The old chief had taken this means of silencing him
effectually, and so straightening myself, I stepped to his side, where
he stood in the shadow of the lodge.
With a quick movement, he threw a deerskin over my head, so that
nothing could be seen of my face. The night was dark and moonless, and
from the deserted streets of the village no sound arose. He turned, and
with me at his heels began a quick journey towards the woods. We met
no one, as with bent heads we silently stole towards the shadow of the
trees.
The cabin in which I had been confined that night lay at the northern
end of the village, and it was only a few moments until we reached the
outskirts of the place. I started back in alarm, for before us there
trod to and fro upon his beat a sentry. We could not pass him without
being seen; but the chief by my side reassured me in a word.
"It is a friend," he whispered. "Once I saved his life from the
Tuscaroras, and he has not forgotten; the Eagle need not fear." And
with head still bent, he stole silently by the motionless figure, who,
with his back turned toward us, stood gazing intently into the night.
He must have heard us as we passed, but if so he made no sign as we
trod softly by, and in a few moments we had reached the friendly shadow
of the trees.
Never for an instant did Windango relax his swinging trot, as he
hurried through the forest. Twice I tripped upon some root or branch,
and came to the ground; but I was up in an instant, and after his dark
shadow, which I could partly discern before me. Through bushes and
vines we tore, the briars scratching my hands and face; into trees I
bumped, and stumbled into gulleys, as I hurried on after the chief.
Five good miles we must have trodden thus, and then crashing through
a cluster of undergrowth and trees, we halted upon the banks of the
river, the Roanoke the natives called it. Here, from underneath some
bushes and vines, the Indian brought out a canoe, and placed it upon
the water. Turning to me he spoke:
"Windango has kept his word, and has repaid the Eagle for the life
of Winona, which he saved from the wild beast in the forest. It is
not safe that the Eagle should remain longer with the Cherokees, for
to-night they plot his life, and while it may be that Windango could
save him for this once, yet in the end they would slay him. Let the
Eagle depart," and with a wave of his hand, he motioned me toward the
canoe.
"The Eagle will not forget Windango," I answered, as with a clasp of
his hard hand, I stepped into the boat, and picking up the paddle
dipped it into the water. "The memory of him will be as the sun upon
the tired traveler after the storm has passed. But how shall the Eagle
know when he has reached the lodges of the pale ones?"
"It is three suns' journey," answered the Indian. "The Eagle will see
upon the banks of the river upon his right a broad rock which juts out
into the water, and over it a withered oak. Let him alight there, and
take the trail which he will see; in an hour he will be at the lodges
of the pale men."
"The Eagle thanks his brother," I said, and with a wave of my paddle, I
pushed the little canoe into the stream, and made rapidly towards the
east, down its wide current.
I had left the Indian behind, and with strong strokes, I made haste
toward Dunraven. Overhead brooded the night, dark, silent; before
me lay the great river, and somewhere beyond those dark trees was
Margaret. My foot struck something in the bottom of the canoe, which
rang against the board. Stooping, I picked it up; it was my gold-hilted
sword--the companion of my wanderings--and beside it lay some food and
a jar of water, placed there by the same kind hand. Buckling the blade
about my waist, around which was still fastened the blue wampum belt, I
resumed my task, my mind engrossed in thought.
Why had not the Cherokees attacked the settlement of Dunraven, if they
knew so well where it lay? It was only a few miles away, and I knew
them too well to think they stood in awe of four men, however brave.
No, there was something deeper than this somewhere. This was the secret
of those steel hatchets and knives which I had seen among the Indians;
he had bought their friendship with these trinkets, and bribed them to
hold me a captive among them.
Ah! there was a long reckoning to settle with my lord, when we should
meet again. One which had been long in the making, and such as one
mortal man could seldom count up against another. If I could only reach
him with my sword, I would give worlds for the opportunity.
A light sound of a paddle floated to my ears from behind me down the
stream. Someone was evidently following, but who I did not know. With
a quick stroke of the paddle, I turned the head of the canoe towards
the bank, and shot in among the overhanging trees and bushes. Here I
waited in silence; five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and I had almost
persuaded myself that I heard only the sound of some beast from the
forest, when again came that light sound. Nearer, clearer, it again
struck my ears, and in a moment I saw the dark body of a canoe upon the
water.
I strained my eyes to discover who were its occupants, but in the gloom
I could see nothing. A pale glimmer of the moonlight for a moment came
out from behind a cloud, and fell full upon the face of Winona, as with
her raised head she looked around her for a glimpse of my canoe.
"Winona!" I called softly, and in an instant I had paddled out from
my hiding place, and to where the boat rocked. "Thou must go back,
child," I said. "What doest thou here?"
She only answered with a storm of sobs.
"Thou canst not follow me, a wanderer upon the face of the earth," I
continued. "What will thy father think of this, after he has saved my
life? No, turn again to thy people," and I pushed her canoe around with
my hands.
"Winona cannot return!" she cried. "Her people will have naught to do
with her after to-night. If the Eagle refuses to let her follow him,
she will cast herself into the river."
I was sorely vexed; here I was about to go into the camp of the enemy;
at the very time that I needed to be footloose, the Indian girl must
needs follow me--a plague on her! And there was Margaret, Heaven only
knew what she would think; but the lass had saved my life, and I could
not leave her alone and friendless in the wilderness. If it be true
that her friends had cast her out, there was naught to do but carry her
with me, and so with a sigh I turned my canoe, and in silence continued
my journey up the river, with her little craft behind me. And so we
journeyed for two long days.
We were moving up the river, only a day's journey from Dunraven now,
and with paddle in hand I pushed the little boat for all there was in
her. But a few more hours and I would face my lord, and with sword in
hand would end his troubles.
A low call floated out to me from the shore, and turning my head
quickly, I saw standing upon the bank some fifty feet away, his face
distorted by a ghastly smile, the apothecary, John Marsden. If I had
seen a vision, I could not have been more surprised. I looked at him in
amazement, as he raised his hands and beckoned me to approach him.
What ruse was this? Did he but attempt to lure me to the shore, so that
I would fall into the hands of some of Dunraven's men, who concealed by
the trees lay in wait for me?
"Quick!" he shouted, as my canoe lay motionless upon the water. "Quick,
Sir Thomas! for I know not what moment Lord Dunraven may appear, and if
I fall into his hands, it will all be up with me." And he shuddered in
such terror that, half convinced that his fear was genuine, I paddled
towards him.
"Let me but come aboard," he said, as my canoe touched land; and he
rushed forward in the boat and seated himself in the stern. "Give me
a paddle!" he cried, and seizing one, he never rested until we had
pulled far out into the current; then he gave a sigh of relief. "If
Lord Dunraven overtakes me, it will end the career of John Marsden," he
said, with another uneasy look at me.
"What doest thou here?" I asked sternly, "and why flee from Lord
Dunraven?--mind thee, the truth."
"'Twas on the day before yesterday at noon that I sat in the hut," he
answered. "I was brooding over the failure of my lord to pay me the
gold that he had promised, and the scornful way in which he treated
me, when I approached him and begged for the reward which he held out
to me. I heard a footfall on the floor behind me, and looking up I saw
DeNortier."
"'Dost thou wish one thousand pounds sterling, Marsden?' he said in a
low voice. 'If so, thou hast but to speak.' What could I do? Here was
a vast treasure, sufficient to overthrow the honor of an angel and a
way to revenge myself upon Dunraven; so I answered that I would do his
bidding for one thousand pounds.
"'Then listen to me,' he said, glancing around cautiously. 'The Lady
Margaret Carroll is imprisoned here, and languishes as the captive of
Lord Dunraven. I would rescue and restore her to her lover, Sir Thomas
Winchester, but it is not to be, for last night as I lay upon my bed
I dreamed a dream. As I looked, lo! there stood beside me the dead
Herrick, even as I had seen him often in life. I thought a look of
sorrow was upon his face, and as I looked at him his lips opened and he
spoke:
"'Thy time has come, my captain,' he said. 'Long have I waited in
this far land for thee, but now thy end draws nigh, and I am sent to
warn thee. Three days, and thou shalt join the shadowy throng of thy
men; but do this before thou goest. Send a messenger to Sir Thomas
Winchester to guide him to Lady Margaret Carroll, whom he loves, and
perchance it will avail thee much in the end." As he said this he
vanished.
"'I lay there in the silent room; I am not a person to fear either man
or devil, but I feel within me this shade spoke truth, and it shall be
as he has said. It matters little now, since I know that I cannot win
the Lady Margaret Carroll, for death is better than a weary existence
without her. Dost thou, therefore, Marsden, go to Sir Thomas Winchester
and guide him here, while I stay and guard the lady until his arrival.
Hasten back when thou dost give the message.'
"And he gave me the one thousand pounds, which I buried, and
straightway I set out to find thee. Praise be to God I have done it!"
And he looked at me with an air of joy.
"Dost expect me to believe this?" I asked incredulously.
"Believe it or not--it is the truth," he said doggedly. "Would I be
likely to put myself in thy hands, if what I say were not true?"
We were all this time making our way swiftly down the river, Winona in
her little boat behind us.
"Marsden," I said, "tell me the scheme of my abduction, all thou dost
know of it--and then perhaps I may believe thee."
"DeNortier had watched for several days to carry thee away from
London," he answered, his face lighting up at the thought. "When thou
didst walk abroad that night Herrick was at thy heels. But thou gavest
him the slip and they had given up all hope, until one of the crew who
drank in a little inn saw thee come by and sent word to DeNortier.
Immediately he posted men at every lane which led from the tavern. As
luck would have it, thou didst come up to the very one which he himself
guarded, and he but had time to engage in a discussion with the drunken
fool Steele, when thou didst approach, and the rest thou knowest."
"Why did not DeNortier slay me when I was in his power?" I asked.
"'Twas not like him to let the opportunity slip."
"He loved the same fair lady that Dunraven and thyself sought to win,"
Marsden replied. "Whilst he had thee in his hands, he could play thee
off against my lord, and so hold him in check," and he burst into a
roar of laughter.
"Why dost thou shout so?" I asked sternly. "I see naught to laugh at."
"I but thought of the tale I heard DeNortier tell one day in his cups,
of how thou didst go into the cave to explore it. The old hag, Neulta,
cried out from a secret panel in the wall, and blew the candle out
of thy hand with some of her secret power, and thou didst dash out
of the cave as though the devil were at thy heels." He laughed again
apologetically, and rubbed his eyes with his sleeve.
"Thou knowest how Dunraven entrapped the Lady Margaret," he continued,
"and how they set sail in the 'Betsy,' and making further south reached
this coast a week before thou didst."
"Yes," I answered impatiently. "But how does the Lady Margaret bear her
imprisonment?"
"Like an angel," he said, his crafty eyes lifted to mine to watch every
expression. "Not a murmur has ever crossed her lips, and DeNortier
protects her from harm, for he stands ever between her and Dunraven
like a shield."
"But I have something here that nearly concerns thee," he continued,
drawing from his doublet a square package. "'Tis thy father's will,
which I stole from thy brother Richard one night, thinking perhaps to
sell it to thee at a propitious moment. It is thine for ten thousand
pounds," and he waited impatiently for my reply. "Wouldst give that
much for the estates and title?"
"Thou art mad!" I replied. "Even if I thought thou didst speak truth
and that it were my father's will, which I do not believe, still he
had no power to will the title and land from Richard if he so desired,
which is improbable, for the estates have been entailed for the benefit
of the eldest son for ages."
"Old Sir Hugh Richmond, thy grandfather, broke the entail by suffering
a common recovery," he replied. "Nay, do not look so incredulous,
the proof is in this package. Wilt give ten thousand pounds for the
document?"
"If what thou sayest be true, I am willing," I answered. "But how came
my father to disinherit Richard?"
"'Tis the same old tale," Marsden rejoined. "Richard, thinking he
had the game in his own hands, turned loose all his ill-humor upon
thy father after thou hadst left England, making the old lord's
life a perfect hell on earth with his abuse and ill-treatment. Four
days before he died he sent for a scrivener, and deeded all of his
property of whatsoever character to Sir Robert Vane to hold in trust
for thee. As the estate has been held in fee simple since the common
recovery was suffered, he could so fix it that Richard could not get
at the property. I tell thee that old Sergeant Moore, who drew up the
deed, has so tied up the estate that 'tis impossible to overturn the
conveyance," and he chuckled at the thought.
"But to resume my tale--the title cannot be disposed of as long as
Richard lives, but thy brother cannot of course maintain the dignity
of his position without the estates to keep it up. He will be glad to
relinquish it in thy behalf for a mere pittance, and thou canst have
his action ratified by act of Parliament, so thou wilt be safe in any
event," and so saying, he put the package into my hands.
It was composed of three papers. The first I laid aside after
carelessly glancing at it. 'Twas the common recovery by which Sir Hugh
Winchester barred the estate tail, and attached to it the instrument by
which he took it back again to hold in fee simple.
The next was a bulky document in which my father solemnly transferred
all his estates to Sir Robert Vane in trust. "Nevertheless to hold the
same for the benefit and advantage of my second son, now beyond the
seas--Thomas Winchester." And below he had scrawled his name.
I folded the document together again--so that homely old saying had
come to pass, that "curses like chickens come home to roost." I had
never loved my father, he had meant naught to me but a name, but at
that moment I pitied him. He had hated me without a cause and his sin
had brought its own punishment. And so thinking I opened the third and
last paper--it ran thus:
"RICHMOND CASTLE,
April 10, 1588.
"THOMAS:--As I lie here to-night, I realize that in a few
hours I must pass out to meet that God, whom I have never served
or obeyed. I have done little of good in this world; have lived
only for self, my own desire and enjoyment my only thought. I
know of not one soul whom I have ever helped or assisted during
the whole of my miserable life, but on the contrary there are many
whom I have wronged and injured, who will rejoice as they hear the
news of my death.
"I have wronged thee most of all, for I allowed that villain,
Richard, to play upon my dislike of thee, until I did thee that
last injury and drove thee from England. I have paid for my sin
in agony and torture; my life since thou left has been a living
death. There has been no night for months that I have not writhed
in anguish, and to add to my sufferings, Richard has done all in
his power to be-devil me, thinking that he had the estates safe.
"I have made what little reparation I could, and have disinherited
him, and transferred all the property to thy friend Sir Robert
Vane, to hold in trust for thee; for something tells me thou art
alive, and will yet come to claim thy own. Death, my son, will be
a boon to me--it will at last end my agony in this world. I trust
that my God will take into consideration my suffering here, in
measuring my punishment in the life to come.
"And now I will close forever. I cannot ask thee to forgive me, I
have sinned too deeply. I only ask thee to remember that if I have
wronged thee I have been repaid; for every drop of suffering that
has been wrung from thy brow, I have sweated two--for every groan
thou hast uttered, I have groaned thrice. So thou dost see, that
even in this world, we are repaid for our sins, for as a man makes
his bed so shall he lie.
"Farewell,
"RICHMOND."
I held the paper in my hand, and from my long dry eyes there fell a
tear, as though in tribute to one who had sinned and suffered. I knew
he had repented bitterly the injury he had done me, and from the bottom
of my heart I forgave him. I looked up at Marsden, who sat opposite,
eying me as a cat gazes at a mouse.
"But thou dost forget that I am a fugitive from justice, and if I set
foot in England to claim the estate, the Queen will hang me."
He threw up his hands in despair.
"I had forgotten that; thy estates are forfeited to the Crown as those
of a traitor, and thy father's disposition of them goes for naught.
'Tis maddening with only that between thee and fortune--fool that I was
not to think of it! Shall I have the papers back again?" he said. "They
are of no value to thee."
"No," I answered. "Did I give them back to thee, thou wouldst sell them
to Richard, and 'tis best that they remain in my hands."
A scowl of fury came over Marsden's pale face at my words, and he
glanced about him. But he saw that I was prepared to meet him, so he
arose to his feet. Raising my head, I saw that the canoe lay by a
little neck of land, and that even now he was preparing to step ashore.
"What doest thou?" I asked in surprise.
"I promised DeNortier to return as soon as I delivered the message,"
he said; "for the Count needs help to protect Lady Margaret from
Dunraven." And resisting all remonstrances, he plunged into the woods,
bidding me go by water. "Dunraven might try to escape by the river, and
'tis best to surround him on all sides," he said, and seeing the wisdom
of his words, I let him go and resumed my journey.
All night long I paddled steadily, the canoe of Winona behind me, and
by morning we were nearing the goal for which I had struggled so long.
Four of the afternoon had arrived, and Winona called to me that just
ahead there lay the broad white rock which marked the end of our
journey. Yes, there to the left, jutting out into the water, was a
broad flat rock, and above it hung a withered oak.
"'Tis the rock," said Winona, and turning our canoes in that direction,
we soon approached it.
The girl caught the prow of my boat, and concealing both canoes in the
high reeds that fringed the bank, with bow in hand she led the way
along the little beaten path into the woods. So this was the beginning
of the end I thought, as with my sword loosed in its scabbard, I
followed the lithe figure of Winona. With eyes bent upon the path, and
step as proud and free as a young fawn, she tripped in front of me.
For some minutes she walked thus, and then with an exclamation she
pointed to the trail; for here there was a great place trodden smooth,
as though some monarch of the forest had locked horns with an enemy in
the death struggle. The earth was torn and furrowed, and a great pool
of blood, which looked as though it had been shed only a few minutes
before, was in front of us.
"What is it, Winona?" I asked. "Have some bucks locked horns here?"
"No," she answered gravely, as she gazed at the ground; "it is the pale
faces--see!" And she pointed to the earth, where bending I could dimly
see the print of a shoe.
"Let us go on, Winona!" I cried, alarmed at the sight, and I followed
the trail of blood, where it led out again to the path.
"See!" she cried, and she pointed to the stream of blood. "One of the
pale ones was struck down, but he sprang up and followed his enemies,"
and brushing by me, she ran on down the path.
For a few minutes we kept on after the bloody track, then turning from
the path, we followed the blood into the woods down a little hillock
and up under a great oak, where I could dimly see the figure of a man,
as with upturned face he lay quiet and still.
"The wounded man almost caught one of those who struck him!" she cried
excitedly, pointing to a deep track, as where one had leaped in terror
and then sprang forward in desperation.
I did not answer, but breaking into a run, I rushed by her and up the
slope to where that ghastly figure lay beneath the tree. As I stood
beside him, he stirred and opened his bloodshot eyes, wearily looking
up at me--it was DeNortier, and wounded unto death, it required no
leech to see that. Beside him lay the dead body of the apothecary,
Marsden, a look of terror awful to behold upon his pale face.
One stiff hand clutched some leaves, the other lay outstretched above
his head, as though in despair. He had died like a trapped rat; the
ghastly look upon his face was more significant than words, for it
showed the agony and despair of the last moment, when the freebooter
had struck him down. There still quivered in his lifeless frame the
keen blade of a sword, which had been thrust through his body and deep
into the ground, pinning him down to writhe and die like a butterfly
transfixed by a needle.
The Count DeNortier looked at me a moment with his glassy eyes, and
then drew back from me.
"Art come to torment me, pale shade?" he said. "Away! A few moments and
I will be even as thou art."
"I am no shade," I answered, "but a man of flesh and blood like
thyself."
"Who is it, cloaked and hooded, that stands gray and silent by thy
side?" he continued in the same low voice, as though he had not heard
me. "It looks even as one whom I have known in the long ago. Speak, dim
spectre! Who art thou?"
I looked behind me, there was no one there save the wondering Indian
girl.
With a shout that resounded through the forest, he dragged himself to a
sitting position, horror stamped upon every feature of his face.
"It is Sir Samuel Morton!" he shouted in an unearthly voice. "Back! I
slew thee, but it was in fair fight. Why comest thou here to torment
me? Go! I said," and he fell back trembling upon the ground.
"'Tis no one, Count," I said soothingly. "Be calm--It is only the
creation of thy fevered brain that thou seest."
But with straight, unseeing eyes, already fixed in death, he stared
past me.
"'Tis ever thus," he groaned, "ever I see rise around me the shadowy
faces of those whom I have slain. They flock about with leering looks
and outstretched fingers, taunting me as I lie thus. If there be a
hell, as the lying priests would have us believe, it would be torture
enough to listen through countless ages to their gibes, and to see
about me their staring faces," and he lay back exhausted, with panting
tongue.
"Water," he moaned--"would that I had but one drink of water."
I cast my steel cap towards the motionless girl.
"Bring him some water, Winona," I said.
She bounded away to a little brook that glimmered through the trees
near by.
"Dunraven," he screamed, rising again, "thou shalt not have her! I
would rather that this Sir Thomas should win than thou; he is at least
a man, whilst thou art a creeping serpent. I would rather see the maid
cold in death, than to be the bride of such as thou."
"How camest thou thus?" I said, seating myself by him.
"What carest thou?" he answered, seeming to see me again. "What
difference can it make to thee, thou who art a shadow, whether I live
or die? But listen, if it be of any interest, and thou shalt hear how I
came to be in this condition.
"This Dunraven had kept the maid captive for two long months in the
cabin yonder, constantly threatening her and menacing her with I
know not what, unless she would give her consent to let that imp of
hell--the priest Francis--marry her to him. I had landed the day after
they did upon the coast; for I knew Dunraven's plans, and that he would
come directly here. I learned them from the spy, Marsden, the rogue who
lies beside me, who would have played me false. I followed hot on their
trail and found them here. Dunraven was furious that I should have
tracked him, for he thought to have the maid in his power, and I was
ever as a thorn in the flesh to him.
"Often wearied by the long resistance of Lady Margaret, he swore by
Heaven and earth to wed her. I took the part of the maiden--partly
because I loved her--partly because down in my black heart I pitied
her. For if ever woman bore herself nobly, under circumstances that
would daunt a heart of iron, that woman is Lady Margaret Carroll.
"Curse it!" he cried. "My throat burns and scorches, and yet I lie here
and babble to amuse a pale shade, and thou wilt not give me a drop of
water to cool my aching throat."
"Thou shalt have water," I answered; "have patience," and even as I
spoke, I heard the step of the girl as she returned.
Taking the cup from her, I bent over the dying man, and lifting him up,
held the cool water to his lips, while he gulped it down eagerly and
resumed his story, a far-away look in his glassy eyes.
"For the last week Dunraven has been as one possessed, for one of the
savages brought him tidings which set him wild, and it was only with
the point of my sword I held him in check.
"I strolled down to the great rock this morning, where I had dispatched
Marsden to find thee and bring thee here to rescue the lady. My
agreement with the traitor was to meet him on his return at the rock.
As I gazed upon the water, I heard a sound behind me, and turning I saw
Dunraven, with his henchman, the fat priest, and Marsden, together with
the Indian whom my lord had ever with him. Fool that I was to suspect
nothing from Dunraven's smiling face, as talking and chatting, he rode
with me back to the cabins, the others following.
"Anxious I was to know what success Marsden had met with, but I could
say naught until I could get him apart from the others. So I came along
with them, perhaps a mile, when the priest, leaning behind me, without
a word plunged a long knife into my back. I turned on him, but like a
flash the whole band were upon me.
"I struggled furiously, and tried to draw my sword, but the Indian had
severed the belt with his knife. I fought for my life, unarmed and
alone--but what could one man do? They bore me down to the ground, and
thrusting their knives in me a last time, pursued their way, leaving me
for dead.
"'Have no fear for the Lady Margaret!' Dunraven cried, as with a
smile he left me. 'I will care well for her.' I lay there and cursed
the fate that had willed that I, a man who had slain a score of
gallant gentlemen in fair fight, and held at bay for five long years
the strength of Europe, should die in an unknown hole of this great
uninhabited country.
"Even as I lay thus, I heard a light step, and the ruffian Marsden came
stealing down, knife in hand, fearing that by some mischance I might
betray the secret of his perfidy to Dunraven. I waited quietly, with
my eyes closed, until he bent over me, then gathering all my strength,
even as a lamp flares up into a bright flame before it goes out
forever, I sprang at him, and caught him by the throat.
"With a yell of fear, he wrenched himself free and tore down the path,
with me at his heels. I drew nearer and nearer to him until, with one
last leap, I sprang upon his back and hurled him to the ground. Then
with his own sword I slew him. Could I have only cut the throat of that
fiend Dunraven, I would die content.
"And now, thou dweller of another sphere, one last thing to soothe thy
troubled heart would I do, before I go to join thee. The Lady Margaret
loves thee. Would I could have told thee before thou hadst passed out
of this mortal globe, but I only discovered it a few brief hours ago.
They say that dying men see plainly into the future. I know not if that
be true--I only know that something tells me that Margaret Carroll will
be the bride of a nobler man than Dunraven."
He was nearing the end now, and with long-drawn breath and wildly
groping hands, he fought for breath. Suddenly he looked up at me with
vacant gaze.
"Say that thou forgivest me for the share I had in thy detention!" he
wildly cried. "As God is my witness, I have rued it oft and deeply. I
have other and grievous sins to answer for, and would not go down to
death with that blot unforgiven."
"I forgive thee," I gently answered, as I bent over him, "and though
'twas a terrible thing, I bear thee no malice, and would not stand
between thee and thy God."
"I have done thee a great favor," he muttered. "Thou wilt discover it
sometime."
He babbled on a few moments at random. Of deeds of blood and terror,
awful and ghastly; of men murdered in cold blood; of women and
children put to death with torture, such as the mind of man could
hardly conceive, by the thumbscrew and the stake; of burning ships
and murdered crews. Then a look of cunning and avarice came over his
ghastly face, and he tried to raise himself, but was too weak. He could
only beckon me to draw near.
"Nearer," he whispered, "I will tell thee a secret, that will make thee
rich beyond thy wildest dreams. It will be some recompense for the
pain I have caused thee, and thou canst let a small portion be used in
Masses for my soul. No one knows where it is concealed, save myself and
the dead Herrick."
"Where is it hidden?" I asked listlessly, for in truth I cared little
for the golden hoard, since one whom I loved could not share it with me.
"Nearer," he whispered, so low that only bending far over his white
face, could I hear his voice. "Those pale ones who bend beside thee
shall not hear it; 'tis for thy ear alone. Look upon the Island
Eldorado, it is concealed----"
He stiffened himself; even as he did so, I knew that his race was run,
for I could feel beside me the presence of that one who had beckoned
him, and who with waiting boat was preparing to waft him over the dark
stream, and into the dim unknown region from which no traveler returns.
The dying man had lifted himself until he sat erect, his dull, glazed
eyes fixed far beyond me. He spoke, and with awe I recognized that his
voice had regained all the strength and imperiousness with which it
rang when he had reigned supreme, the lord and ruler of the savage crew.
"Some wine, José!" he cried. "The wine of the King of Spain. We will
drink one more toast before we go; our time is short--long and weary
the journey. Now, men, fill up to the brim, for I give you a toast
to-night, such as you have never drunk e'er this, nor will again.
"'Tis a lady, pure, beautiful, divine, such a one as never graced this
rough earth before. Had Eve been such as she, 'tis no wonder that Adam
lost all, and counted it naught beside the glory of her deep eyes.
Had Helen been one-half so fair, I wonder not that Paris for her sake
braved all Greece and laughed at their rage. I give thee a lady, my
comrades, more lovely than the pale blushing dawn, purer than the
driven snow, with eyes whose deep blue outshines the azure sky, one
whom England admires and adores--The Lady Margaret Carroll!"
He fell back upon the bank, the same calm smile upon his face. He made
no sign or motion; bending forward, I saw that he had died without a
struggle.
With the help of Winona I dug a trench and buried the Count. So we left
him to keep his last long watch; the snows of winter lie thick upon his
grave, the sun and rain of summer beat upon it, but he heeds them not.
He was a man with all his faults, and deep above his grave I carved
upon a hemlock the simple words "Requiescat in pace."
It was night when the Indian maid and myself resumed our journey.
Winona had buried Marsden near DeNortier, and by the light of the moon
we made our way down the rocky path and towards the cabins. No sound
broke the gloom of the forest, as we strode rapidly on. I had lost
precious time with DeNortier; during which perhaps the fox Dunraven had
taken the alarm, and fled still further into the vast country beyond
the dim mountains of which Manteo had told me.
And now, as we silently turned a bend in the path, the glare of a fire
met my eyes, only a few feet ahead, and to the left of where I stood.
Cautiously drawing my sword, with Winona, bow in hand, at my heels, I
stole forward, until I stood underneath the trees in the shadow. Then
quietly I looked out upon those who sat about the fire.
In front and facing me, sat Lord Dunraven upon a huge log, his sheathed
sword between his knees. To his right, and several feet away, was
another figure, a woman in a white dress. The light from the fire
shone upon her white neck and rounded arms, and a gold chain about her
throat glistened and sparkled as the glow from the blazing embers fell
upon it. One little foot peeped out from the hem of her skirt, and her
burnished hair shone in the dim light, as though each strand were gold,
mined from the far-off land of the Indies.
A fagot from the dying fire blazed up, and the light fell full upon
her face, which was in the shadow. Even before the firelight told me,
I knew the maid was Margaret. Paler than it was her wont to be, but
radiant with the same marvelous beauty. The last few months had defaced
not one trace of loveliness, and even as I gazed upon her from my
hiding-place, the same faint perfume floated across to me that I had
ever noticed when in her presence.
"And so DeNortier, a plague upon him, has gone out upon a longer
journey than it has been his wont to take," Dunraven said, a sneer upon
his face. "He will find it, I fear, a rough voyage, and will meet on
his arrival a warm greeting," and he looked up at the lady.
"I would have gone to where he lay, and read to him from the Holy
Scriptures," she said in a clear voice. "Perhaps it would have soothed
his last moments, but thou wouldst not let me do this."
"No," he answered, his sneer deepening into an evil smile. "Curse him!
He has thwarted me long enough. Had it not been for him, thou wouldst
have been Lady Dunraven long ere this. But the fruit only grows more
tempting with the waiting," and he laughed long and loud.
The Lady Margaret had risen, and with tears in her eyes now faced him.
"Why dost thou persecute me thus?" she said, as though in despair.
"Thou knowest I will never willingly be thy bride; there are many fair
ladies in England. Why wilt thou persist in thy mad pursuit of me, when
thou knowest I do not love thee?"
My lord kept his seat, the smile still upon his face.
"If thou for any reason dost look into thy mirror, thou needst wonder
no further."
"I seek not for compliments," she answered impatiently. "I would know
the cause of thy unreasonable conduct."
"Thou seekest for a reason, behold thou hast it. Margaret, I have
spent a great treasure; have slain two gallant gentlemen; have left
the luxuries and pleasures of my own country to become a wanderer in a
strange land; have traversed countless leagues of trackless ocean and
boundless forest, my very life at the mercy of these roving savages.
Have imperiled all, Margaret--wealth, position, title, reputation, and
for what?"
"Yes, for what?" she answered, her head held proudly erect. "It has
been worse than wasted."
"'Tis for this," he cried, and he advanced a step nearer to
her--"because I love thee."
My lady's face had grown scornful, her eyes flashed, for she came of a
noble line, and when once aroused, the Carroll blood could be hot and
fierce.
"Thou hadst best save thy breath," she answered contemptuously. "Thou
art like a child, that frets and whimpers for the moon."
"Art thou made of stone?" he cried, "that naught can touch thy cold
heart? What more wouldst thou have. I have dared all, endured all, for
thy sake, and yet thou still dost frown--hast thou no smile?"
"Not for such as thee," she answered calmly, turning her back upon him
and looking out into the gloom.
"Perhaps thou thinkest that they be for Sir Thomas Winchester,"
he said with a scowl. "Fool not thyself, proud lady, thy lover is
dead--died with such torture as thy mind knows not, devised with all
the ingenuity that the savage Indian can contrive. Thy smile shall
never more be for him."
Margaret had grown paler, but her courage did not fail her for an
instant.
"If he be dead," she replied piteously, "he was something that in thy
whole life thou hast never been, nor conceived of--a brave and gallant
gentleman."
"It may be so," he answered, "but I had rather be a live man with the
Lady Margaret Carroll, than a dead gentleman, though he be a saint."
"Beast!" she cried, in anger and despair. "I loathe thee! Even the very
savages have some mercy on their helpless victims, but thou knowest not
what mercy is."
"Not where thou art concerned," he answered steadily. "Cost what it
may, thou shalt be mine." And folding his arms upon his chest, he
looked at her as though he would imprint every feature of her face
indelibly upon his brain.
"Name my ransom," she said. "Any price--though it take every penny of
my estate, I will pay it gladly and willingly," and she turned again
and faced him imploringly.
"What wouldst thou do here, alone in this wilderness? Thou wouldst lose
thyself amid its dark shades; be devoured by some wild beast, or fall
into the hands of the Indians, beside which captivity in my hands would
be a paradise."
"It matters not," she cried eagerly, her face alight with hope. "Better
to die at the stake, than to endure such as this. Name but thy price,
and it shall be paid."
"This is my answer," he replied slowly and deliberately, his dark eyes
upon hers: "Though each leaf upon every tree in all this vast continent
were a golden sovereign, and all that vast treasure mine, should I but
set thee free, I would turn my back upon it in scorn and disdain. Not
for aught that this great world holds would I forego my power to make
thee mine."
Margaret had sunk back again upon the log from which she had risen,
her hands over her face. I still lay where I was behind Dunraven. I
would wait until the moment arrived when he would attempt to carry
his scheme into effect; then at the very instant when he held the cup
to his lips, I would dash it to the ground. Defeat would only seem the
more bitter because he had been so near to victory.
"So don thy fairest dress and thy brightest smile this evening, for
I can wait no longer for the time when thou shalt be mine. With only
the light of thine eyes to bask in, with thee to cheer me, this rough
land would be an Eden, and we like two children to wander hand in hand
beneath the trees. Such a life I have long dreamed of--such at last is
at hand for me. The priest will make us one this very night. So prepare
thee, for in a few brief moments he will be here."
She raised her head, a look of determination in her blue eyes, which
had grown hard and cold as steel.
"I cannot tell what things the future holds in store for me, but this
much is certain: Before I would submit to such an indignity I would
slay myself with my dagger and so end my misery. I warn thee that I
am desperate. Push me not to the wall, or I will do something that
perchance thou wilt regret. Be not so sure. At the last moment the cup
may be dashed from thy hands." And she arose, courage and desperation
upon her face.
"There is no help for it," he answered. "Thou canst do naught,
Margaret, but weep and wring thy white hands; there is no one to aid
thee. Thou art alone in my power--neither God nor man can help thee
now."
"Be not so sure of that, my lord," I answered as I stepped out into the
firelight, my sword raised. "Thou knowest not what these dark woods
contain."