Part 84 (2/2)

”Did I ever fear to look down the depths of my enemies' muskets?”

It was the single outbreak, the single reproach, that escaped from him--the single utterance by which he ever quoted his services to France. Not one who heard him dared again force on him that indignity which would have blinded his sight, as though he had ever dreaded to meet death.

That one protest having escaped from him, he was once more still and calm, as though the vacant grave yawning at his feet had been but a couch of down to rest his tired limbs. His eyes watched the daylight deepen, and widen, and grow into one sheet of glowing roseate warmth; but there was no regret in the gaze; there was a fixed, fathomless resignation that moved with a vague sense of awe those who had come to slay him, and who had been so used to slaughter that they fired their volley into their comrade's breast as callously as into the ranks of their antagonists.

”It is best thus,” he thought, ”if only she never knows----”

Over the slope of brown and barren earth that screened the camp from view there came, at the very moment that the ramrods were drawn out with a shrill, sharp ring from the carbine-barrels, a single figure--tall, stalwart, lithe, with the spring of the deerstalker in its rapid step, and the sinew of the northern races in its mold.

Cecil never saw it; he was looking at the east, at the deepening of the morning flush that was the signal of his slaughter, and his head was turned away.

The newcomer went straight to the adjutant in command, and addressed him with brief preface, hurriedly and low.

”Your prisoner is Victor of the Cha.s.seurs?--he is to be shot this morning?”

The officer a.s.sented; he suffered the interruption, recognizing the rank of the speaker.

”I heard of it yesterday; I rode all night from Oran. I feel great pity for this man, though he is unknown to me,” the stranger pursued, in rapid, whispered words. ”His crime was--”

”A blow to his colonel, monsieur.”

”And there is no possibility of a reprieve?”

”None.”

”May I speak with him an instant? I have heard it said that he is of my country, and of a rank above his standing in his regiment here.”

”You may address him, M. le Duc; but be brief. Time presses.”

He thanked the officer for the unusual permission, and turned to approach the prisoner. At that moment Cecil turned also, and their eyes met. A great, shuddering cry broke from them both; his head sank as though the bullet had already pierced his breast, and the man who believed him dead stood gazing at him, paralyzed with horror.

For a moment there was an awful silence. Then the Seraph's voice rang out with a terror in it that thrilled through the careless, callous hearts of the watching soldiery.

”Who is that man? He died--he died so long ago! And yet----”

Cecil's head was sunk on his chest; he never spoke, he never moved; he knew the helpless, hopeless misery that waited for the one who found him living only to find him also standing before his open grave. He saw nothing; he only felt the crus.h.i.+ng force of his friend's arms flung round him, as though seizing him to learn whether he were a living man or a spector dreamed of in delirium.

”Who are you? Answer me, for pity's sake!”

As the swift, hoa.r.s.e, incredulous words poured on his ear, he, not seeking to unloose the other's hold, lifted his head and looked full in the eyes that had not met his own for twelve long years. In that one look all was uttered; the strained, eager, doubting eyes that read their answer in it needed no other.

”You live still! Oh! thank G.o.d--thank G.o.d!”

And as the thanksgiving escaped him, he forgot all save the breathless joy of this resurrection; forgot that at their feet the yawning grave was open and unfilled. Then, and only then, under that recognition of the friends.h.i.+p that had never failed and never doubted, the courage of the condemned gave way, and his limbs shook with a great s.h.i.+ver of intolerable torture; and at the look that came upon his face, the look of death, brute-like anguish, the man who loved him remembered all--remembered that he stood there in the morning light only to be shot down like a beast of prey. Holding him there still with that strong pressure of his sinewy hands, he swore a great oath that rolled like thunder down the hard, keen air.

”You! peris.h.i.+ng here! If they send their shots through you, they shall reach me first in their pa.s.sage! O Heaven! Why have you lived like this?

Why have you been lost to me, if you were dead to all the world beside?”

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