Part 19 (1/2)

”Now,” he said, ”now, De Roquemaure!” and as he spoke the other felt the iron muscles in the man's wrist forcing his blade down and down; the point was level to his adversary's thigh; an instant more, and St.

Georges's sword would release his, would suddenly spring up and--a moment later--be through his breast.

In his agony he shrieked, ”_Au secours, au secours!_” and in a last desperate effort leaped aside, the weapon that at that moment sought his heart with a tremendous lunge piercing his arm alone.

Another moment and St. Georges had disengaged it, drawn it forth, and was about to plunge it through the craven's heart--this time he would not fail!--when he heard the rustle of the woman's riding robe behind him, he felt a shock, and his arm instantly drop nerveless by his side; the weapon fell from his hand, and he sank back heavily on the stone floor, the room swimming before his eyes and all becoming rapidly dark.

Roused by her lover's cry and frenzied by the immediate death which she saw threatening him; driven almost mad also by the look of terror and mortal apprehension on his face, she had sprung up the room, reached St. Georges, and buried her dagger in his back. She had aimed under his left shoulder, where she knew the region of the heart was--it seemed her aim was true! As he fell to the ground she knew that she had saved De Roquemaure. Yet her frenzy was not calmed; in an instant she had seized the sword that still was grasped in her lover's nerveless right hand, placed it in his left, and muttered swiftly in a voice he did not recognise:

”Through his heart!--his heart, Raoul! That way. Otherwise it will seem murder and confound us.”

”I--I dare not,” the scared man muttered, shaking all over. ”I cannot, I----”

”_Lache!_” and as she hurled the epithet at him she seized the weapon herself in her own white jewelled hand and drew it back to plunge it through his breast so that it should meet the wound behind.

Yet that was not to be. Even as she raised the sword the door was burst violently open, and the innkeeper, with two other men and a waiting woman rushed into the room.

”_Grand Dieu!_” the landlord cried, s.h.i.+vering and shaking all over, as he saw the terrible spectacle which the place afforded--St. Georges stretched on the floor, the stones covered with blood, the other wounded man leaning against the wall, the maddened woman with the sword, which she had dropped at their entrance, lying at her feet, and the candles out--”_Grand Dieu!_ what has been done in my house?

Murder?”

At first neither De Roquemaure nor the panting creature by his side could answer; then the former found his tongue, while still the landlord and the other two men stared at them and the waiting woman hid her face in her ap.r.o.n, not to see the ghastly form on the floor, and said: ”Not murder, but attempted murder. This man drew on me--with a lady present--would have a.s.sa.s.sinated me. You see my wound,” and he held up his pierced arm.

”Attempted murder!” exclaimed one of the men, he looking of a very superior cla.s.s to that of the landlord. ”A strange attempt; you are young and strong as he; armed, too, your weapon drawn. Yet it seems it needed this also to aid you,” and he stooped and picked up the woman's toy dagger. ”This demands explanation----”

”And shall be given to those ent.i.tled to ask. I am the Marquis de Roquemaure, set upon and forced to defend myself by this fellow who entrapped us here.--You,” turning to the landlord, ”saw how he caused us to enter this house, though I told you we wanted nothing. He it was who gave all the orders. For the rest, he was a disgraced and ruined soldier, a common bravo and bully, who deemed me the cause of his punishment. I answer nothing further but to the king whom I serve, or his representative.”

”He looks not like a bravo or bully,” said the man who had spoken last, as he knelt down by St. Georges and took his wrist between his fingers. ”He scarce seems that.”

”Is he dead?” the woman asked hoa.r.s.ely now, as she bent down over her victim.

”Not yet. There is still some pulse.”

And even as he spoke, St. Georges opened his eyes, looked up at him, and muttered once, ”Dorine!”

Then the eyes closed again and his head fell back on the other's arm.

THE SECOND PERIOD.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LA GALeRE GRANDE ReALE.

The July sun blazed down upon the sea which lay beneath it as unruffled as an artificial lake inland; there was no ripple on the water as far as the eye could see; above the water to the northwest there rose the chalky cliffs between Whitby and Scarborough--a white, hazy line over which a few fleecy clouds were ma.s.sed together. Upon the water, three miles out from those cliffs, a dark blot, which grew larger and clearer moment by moment, and proved to be--when seen through the perspective gla.s.ses of the officers on board a French galley which was further out to sea and rapidly retreating from the English coast--one of King William's men-of-war.

A French galley rapidly retreating from the English coast, of the style known as La Grande Reale, and named L'Idole. On board of her six hundred and seventy souls, comprising a first and second captain, a lieutenant and sub-lieutenant, an ensign, also a major general, some standard bearers, a commissary general, one or two volunteer officers, over one hundred soldiers and seventy sailors, a number of subaltern officers and s.h.i.+p boys, and--three hundred and sixty galley slaves and sixty Turkish slaves.

A life of h.e.l.l was this of the galley to all on board her when at sea--even to those in command! Neither first nor second captain, neither major nor commissary general, nor even volunteer officers--often members of the oldest and most aristocratic families of France--could ever lie down to sleep on board, for the sufficient reason that in the confined s.p.a.ce there was no room for bed, cot, nor berth. Rest had to be taken by these superiors either when sitting on ordinary chairs placed on the p.o.o.p cabin, or in armchairs if such were on board--their clothes on, their arms by their side. For not only was there no room for anything in the shape or nature of a bed, but also the galleys were rarely at sea except in time of open war, when at any moment they might be engaged in action. Truly, a life of h.e.l.l!

Yet, if to the superiors such miseries came and had to be endured; such want of sleep, such constant necessity for watchfulness, such poor, coa.r.s.e food as alone the galley could find room to carry--bacon, salt beef, salt cod, cheese, oil, and rice, with a small pot of wine daily, being their allowance--what of those wretches who propelled her when there was no wind, the galley slaves? What was their existence?