With a yelling oath, hissing hot from the devil's thumb-book, he
snatched up the broken blade to fling and stick it javelin-wise in my
shoulder; and then I saw the dull gleam of the candle-light on the
barrel of a pistol.
Had he aimed the pistol at me, I trust I should still have given him his
gentleman's chance. But when I saw him level the weapon at my dear lady
... they came in one and the same heart-beat; the sword-thrust that
found his life and took it; the crash of the pistol-shot echoing like a
clap of thunder in the close vault, and pitchy darkness to draw its
curtain over all.
I know not how I reached her, pulling the broken sword-blade from my
shoulder as I ran; nor can I tell you how an upgushing spring of
thankfulness choked me when I found her unharmed by the bullet which had
snuffed the candle out.
She was in a most piteous state, now it was all over; and though I
charged it all where I supposed it should belong--to the account of a
natural womanly passion to cling to something in her moment of
weakness--yet the blood ran quick in my veins when she suffered me to
lead her out of that dismal, smoking death-pit, she clinging to me the
while so close that I could feel the warmth of her and the fluttering of
her dear heart beneath my hand.
She said no word, nor did I, till we were come above stairs. We found
the rooms on the main floor deserted by all save the blacks, who were
clearing away the debris of the feast of leave-taking.
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