A DAGGER OF ANOTHER SORT.
FOR an instant I did not resist, so sudden and unlooked-for was the
attack; then, as I felt a merciless hand gripping my throat, I struck
savagely at a face I could dimly see just in front of my own. A burst
of blood flooded down over it, changing it into a hideous mask; but
again I felt those fingers of steel about my neck--fingers which
tightened and tightened, tear at them as I might. In a mad frenzy of
rage and agony, I struck again and again at the face before me, until
my tongue swelled in my mouth and the heavens danced red before my
eyes. This was the end, then! I was to be murdered here by these tavern
vagabonds. That vengeance I had sworn was never to be accomplished; and
Charlotte--Charlotte----
The pang which struck through me was not one of physical suffering
alone; indeed, for an instant I ceased to feel those savage fingers.
Ah, I could die--that were nothing! But to leave her! Had God abandoned
us? Where was His justice? Where was His mercy? Again I tore at those
fingers, desperately, madly. I felt the blood spurt from my nostrils,
the heavens reeled before me, a black moon in a sky of living flame....
What magic was it drew that breath of air into my lungs?--life-giving
air, which sent the heart bounding and the pulse leaping in answer! A
second!--a third! I was dimly conscious of a knife gleaming in the air.
I struck again. The face vanished from before me. But the fingers!--the
fingers!--they were buried in my flesh!--they were crushing my life
out! I raised a hand to my throat. The fingers were not there! And
again the sky turned red, and a black moon hung low in it--a moon which
grew and grew, until it swallowed the heavens and the earth....
* * * * *
I was lying upon a vast bed of seaweed, which rose and fell with the
waves of the ocean. Oh, the peace of it! the bliss of it,--save that
from time to time a single strand coiled about my throat like a living
thing, and would have choked me had I not torn it off. The wish came
to me that I might lie there forever, rocked in that mammoth cradle,
lulled by the murmur of waters never ceasing. Then, afar off across the
undulating plain, I saw a figure speeding toward me, and knew it was
my love. At last she reached me, bent above me, looked into my face,
flung herself upon me, calling my name and pressing warm kisses on my
lips--kisses which I could not return, struggle as I might, for my lips
seemed frozen into stone.
I tried to throw my arms about her, but some mighty weight held them at
my side. I tried to call her name, but my voice died in my throat. Then
I knew that I was dead, and a great sadness fell upon me. She would
never know that I felt her kisses, that I heard her voice. She would
never know how I loved her! The thought stung me to fury. She must
know! she should know! For her I would burst the bonds of death itself!
I fought against them desperately, desperately, every muscle strained
to breaking....
* * * * *
I opened my eyes to see a face bending over me--the face of my dream.
Very near she sat,--so near that I could feel the sweet warmth of
her body,--and she was bathing my face and neck with the cool water
from the brook. How good it felt--like the hand of God Himself! I saw
that she had filled a bottle with it, and guessing the wish I had not
strength to utter, she held it to my lips, and gave me a long draught.
It sent new life through me. The pain of swallowing was as nothing to
the delight it gave me. I lay still a moment looking up at her; then I
sat erect unsteadily.
“What is it?” I asked hoarsely. “What has happened to me?”
“Then you are not dead!” she cried. “Then you are going to live! Oh,
thank God!”
“Dead!” I repeated in amazement. “No--nor like to be!”
Then my eyes fell upon an object at my feet, and in a flash I
remembered. I sat for a moment looking down at that huddled shape,
touched here and there into hideous distinctness by the rays of the
moon.
“But even yet I do not understand,” I said at last. “What killed him? A
bolt from heaven? God saves me for my vengeance then!”
She did not answer, only huddled her head into her arms and swayed
forward, shaken by a convulsive shuddering.
I leaned down and looked at the body. Was it blasted, shrivelled as in
a furnace? Had I really been saved by God’s intervention? And how else,
I asked myself; what less than a miracle could have saved me?
The body was lying on its face, and as I stared down at it, I fancied
I saw something protruding from the back. I touched it--it was the
handle of a knife. I drew it forth, not without some effort, and
recognized the knife as mine--Pasdeloup’s--the knife I had used to cut
the bread--the knife I had left lying in the hollow beside the bottles.
Then I understood.
“You!” I cried, staring at the bowed figure. “You!”
She did not answer, only sat and shivered, her head in her arms.
“You!” I said again. “It was you who saved me?”
She raised her head and looked at me.
“I saw--that--he--was choking--you,” she gasped. “God--guided my
hand--to the knife;” and she held it up and looked at it with a kind of
horror.
I caught the hand and drew it to my lips.
“Mademoiselle,” I said hoarsely, “I loved you before--I reverence you
now. But where is the other? I thought there were two of them.”
“There were,” she answered. “The other tried to stab you, but you
struck him and he fled.”
I started up in alarm.
“Then must we flee too, and instantly,” I cried. “He will return and
bring others with him. Come;” and I raised her to her feet.
“But are you strong enough?” she asked.
“Strong enough? I am strong as Hercules! Why should I not be since joy
gives strength? Come.”
Then I remembered her ragged shoes. What hope of escape was there when
our flight must be at a snail’s pace?
“Come,” I repeated; and held out my arms.
“What do you mean?” she demanded, looking at me darkly.
“I am to carry you, you know, until we reach the road. That is already
settled, so we need not waste time arguing it over again.”
“Indeed!” she retorted. “But that was under different circumstances.
Besides, we are not going toward the road, are we?”
“No,” I admitted; “we are going straight up this hill.”
“Very well,” she said, “then our agreement is at an end, and I refuse
to reconsider. It is you who are wasting time.”
I saw she was immovable, and a mad impulse seized me to snatch her up
despite her protests; to overpower her resistance....
Then my glance fell upon the body. In an instant I had dropped beside
it and was pulling the rude, strong shoes from its feet.
“What are you doing?” she gasped, staring down at me.
“Sit here beside me,” I commanded, my heart beating triumphantly; and
as she obeyed, still staring, I pulled off my own shoes and slipped
them over hers. Worn in that way, they fitted as well as could be
desired; they would at least protect her from the roughness of the road
until better ones could be found. Then I stuffed the dead man’s shoes
with grass until they fitted my own feet snugly.
“Now,” I said, “we are ready to be off;” and I sprang to my feet and
drew her after me.
“You are a most ingenious man, M. de Tavernay,” she commented. “I
am ready;” and she followed me up the hill and through a thicket of
underbrush which crowned its summit.
Not a moment too soon; for as we paused to look back before starting
downward, we saw a score of torches advancing up the valley toward the
spot which we had left. Evidently there was to be no chance of failure
this time.
“Come,” I said, and caught her hand.
The slope was free from underbrush and fairly smooth.
“A race!” she cried, her eyes dancing; and a moment later we arrived
breathless at the bottom.
Here there was a wall of stone. We rested a moment on top of it, then I
helped her down into the narrow, rutted road beyond. It ran, as nearly
as I could judge, east and west, and turning our faces westward, we
hurried along it, anxious to put all chance of capture far behind.
The night was sweet and clear and my heart sang with the very joy of
living. I felt strong, vigorous, ready to face any emergency. My recent
encounter had left no souvenir more serious than a tender throat, and
as I thought of it I wondered again at the resolution which had nerved
that soft and delicate arm to drive the blade home in the back of my
assailant. She, too, had proved herself able to meet a crisis bravely,
and to rise to whatever heroism it demanded.
Ah, if she only loved me! I might yet find some way to evade with honor
the unwelcome match my father had arranged for me. But she did not;
so there was an end of that. I must go on to the end, even as I had
promised. But it was a bitter thing!
“Why that profound sigh, M. de Tavernay?” asked my comrade, looking up
at me with dancing eyes, quite in her old manner. “Surely we are in no
present danger?”
“I was thinking not of the present but of the future,” I answered.
“You think, then, that danger lies before us?”
“Undoubtedly!”
“But why cross the bridge till we come to it?”
“Because,” I answered, “since the bridge must be crossed it is as well
to do it now as any time.”
“But perhaps it may be avoided--one can never tell.”
“No,” I said gloomily, “it is a destiny not to be escaped.”
“You frighten me!” she cried; but when I glanced at her she looked
anything but frightened. “What is it that awaits us? Let me know the
worst!”
“It was of myself I was speaking,” I explained.
“Another instance of your selfishness! Are you going to face the
enemy and bid me run away? Depend upon it, I shall think twice before
obeying.”
“This is an enemy which you will never be called upon to face,
mademoiselle. I was thinking of that moment,--a moment not far
distant,--when I have placed you in the hands of your friends and must
bid you adieu.”
“To turn your face southward toward Poitiers? Inconstant man! I did not
think you so eager!”
“No, mademoiselle; I turn back to Dange, as you know, on an errand of
vengeance, and then----”
“To Poitiers on an errand of love. To the hero his reward!”
“Say rather on an errand of duty,” I corrected.
“It will become an errand of love also, once you have seen the
lady--what is her name?”
“No matter,” I said shortly, and strode on in silence.
“M. de Tavernay,” she said in a provoking voice, keeping pace with me,
“I should like to make you a wager.”
“What is it?” I asked, none too gently.
“That my prediction will come true,” she answered, laughing. “That you
will fall madly in love with this lady--oh, desperately in love with
her! and once you have safely married her will remember this youthful
passion only with a smile. Come; the stake shall be anything you like.”
This time I was thoroughly angry. Even if she did not love me she
had no right to wound me, to stab me deliberately, maliciously, with
a smile on her lips. She had no right to draw amusement from my
sufferings, to torture me just for the pleasure of watching my agony.
So I quickened my pace and strode on in silence, my hands clinched,
trying to stifle the pain at my heart.
A touch on my arm aroused me.
“_Ciel!_” gasped a voice; and I turned to see my companion still at my
side indeed, but spent and breathless. “Did you fancy these shoes of
yours were seven-league boots?” she questioned when she could speak.
“Or did you desire to abandon me out here in this wilderness?”
“It would be no more than you deserve!” I retorted; then, as I
remembered how fast I had been walking and pictured her uncomplaining
struggle to keep pace with me, I relented. “Pardon me,” I said, humbly;
“I am a brute. Come; sit here in the shadow of this tree and rest. We
are beyond danger of pursuit--besides, no one can see us here.”
She permitted me to lead her to the shadow and sat down. I leaned
against the tree and stared moodily along the road.
“What is it, monsieur?” she asked at last. “Still brooding on the
future?”
“No, mademoiselle,” I answered; “since it must be endured I shall waste
no more thought upon it.”
“That is wise,” she commended. “That is what I have advised from the
first. Besides, you should remember it is when troubles are approaching
that they appear most terrible.”
“A thousand thanks,” I said dryly. “You are no doubt right.”
“And then,” she added, “one grows morbid when one thinks too much of
oneself.”
“It was not wholly with myself I was occupied this time,” I said;
“or at least with myself only in relation to you. I was thinking how
unfit I am to take care of you; how little I merit the trust which
M. le Comte reposed in me when he gave you into my keeping. I permit
you to limp along behind me with bruised and wounded feet until you
sink exhausted; I lead two scoundrels, whose pursuit I had foreseen,
straight to your hiding-place and would have perished but for your
courage and address; I stride along at top speed until you are ready
to die of fatigue; I show myself a fool, a boor, and yet expect you to
feel some kindness for me. Hereafter you will command this expedition;
I am merely your servant; I am at your orders.”
“Very well,” she responded instantly, “I accept. My first order is that
you sit here beside me;” and she patted the spot with her hand.
“A soldier does not sit in the presence of his commander,” I protested.
“What! Rebellion already!” she cried. “A fine beginning, truly!”
I sat down, a little giddy at this unexpected kindness.
“And now,” she continued severely, “you will repeat after me the
following words: Mademoiselle de Chambray----”
“Mademoiselle de Chambray----”
“I know you are only a silly girl----”
“I know nothing of the sort,” I protested.
“Will you obey my orders, M. de Tavernay, or will you not?” she
inquired sternly.
“No one can be compelled to perjure himself,” I answered doggedly.
“Nor shall I compel you to do so. We will continue then: I know you are
only a silly girl, yet even a silly girl should hesitate to do a friend
malicious injury. Nevertheless I will forgive you, for I see how you
yourself regret it and I am too generous to strike back, even though
you deserve it.”
I looked down at her and saw that there were indeed tears in the eyes
which she turned up to me.
She held out her hand with a little tremulous smile.
“Will you not forgive me, my friend?” she asked.
I seized the hand and covered it with kisses.
“I adore you!” I cried. “Adore you!--adore you!”
And I would have asked nothing better, nothing sweeter, than to die
there at her feet, with her warm hand in mine and her eyes enfolding me
in a lambent flame which raised me to a height that kings might envy.
For in that instant I knew that she loved me.