Part 22 (1/2)

”There is not a finer swords--swordsman in the kingdom, or on the continent, for that matter. There! they are at it again.”

Step by step the lieutenant gave ground; the clas.h.i.+ng had stopped; it was needle-like work now. Gradually they began to turn around. The blades flashed in the moons.h.i.+ne like heat lightning. My pulse attuned itself to every stroke. I heard a laugh. It was full of scorn. The laugh--it recalled to me a laugh I had heard before. Evidently the youngster was playing with the veteran. I became fascinated. And while the innkeeper and I watched a curious thing happened. Something seemed to be slipping from the youngster's head; he tried to put up his free hand, but the lieutenant was making furious pa.s.ses! A flood of something dimly yellow suddenly fell about the lad's shoulders. Oh, then I knew! With a snarl of rage I took the inn-keeper by the throat and hurled him, knife and all, to the floor, dashed from the room, thence to the stairs, down which I leaped four at a time. Quick as I was, I was too late. The lieutenant's sword lay on the gra.s.s, and he was clasping his shoulder with the sweat of agony on his brow.

”d.a.m.nation!” he groaned; ”a woman!” Then he tottered and fell in the arms of his subordinate. He had fainted.

”This will make a pretty story,” cried the young officer, as he laid his superior lengthwise, and tried to staunch the flow of blood.

”Here's a man who runs away, and lets a woman--G.o.d knows what sort--fight his duels for him, the cur!”

I never looked at him, but went straight to Gretchen. Stahlberg gave me a questioning glance, and made a move as though to step between.

”Stand aside, man!” I snapped. ”Gretchen, you have dishonored me.”

”It were better than to bury you”--lightly. ”I a.s.sure you he caused me no little exertion.”

Yet her voice shook, and she shuddered as she cast aside the sword.

”You have made a laughing stock of me. I am a man, and can fight my own battles,” I said, sternly. ”My G.o.d!” breaking down suddenly, ”supposing you had been killed?”

”It was not possible. And the man insulted me, not you. A woman?

Very well. I can defend myself against everything but calumny. Have I made a laughing stock of you? It is nothing to me. It would not have altered my--”

She was very white, and she stroked her forehead.

”Well?” said I.

”It would not have altered my determination to take the sword in hand again.”

She put her hand to her throat as though something there had tightened.

”Ah, I am a woman, for I believe that I am about to faint! No!”

imperiously, as I threw out my arms to catch her. ”I can reach the door alone, without a.s.sistance.”

And so we went along. I did not know what to do, nor yet what to say.

A conflict was raging in my heart between shame and love; shame, that a woman had fought for me and won where I should have lost; love, that strove to spring from my lips in exultation. I knew not which would have conquered had I not espied the blood on Gretchen's white hand.

”You are wounded!” I cried.

She gazed at her hand as though she did not understand; then, with a little sob and a little choke she extended her arms toward me and stumbled. Was ever there a woman who could look on blood without fainting? Gretchen had not quite fainted, but the moon had danced, she said, and all had grown dim.

”Gretchen, why did you risk your life? In G.o.d's name, what manner of woman are you, and where did you learn to use the sword? Had you no thought of me?” I was somewhat incoherent.

”No thought of you?” She drew the back of her hand over her eyes. ”No thought of you? I did it because--because I did not--I could not--you would have been killed!”

I was a man--human. I loved her. I had always loved her; I had never loved any one else. I was a coward to do what I did, but I could not help it. I crushed her to my breast and kissed her lips, not once, but many times.

”How dare you!” weakly.

”How dare I, Gretchen, dear Gretchen?” I said. ”I dare because I love you! I love you! What is it to me that you have dishonored me in the eyes of men? Nothing. I love you! Are you a barmaid? I care not.

Are you a conspirator? I know not, nor care. I know but one thing: I love you; I shall always love you! Shall I tell you more? Gretchen, you love me!”

”No, no! it cannot be!” she sobbed, pus.h.i.+ng me back. ”I am the most wretched woman in the world! Do not follow me, Herr; leave me, I beg you to leave me. I have need of the little strength left. Leave me, leave me!”