Part 32 (2/2)

”An end to this fooling, Gilbert,” I said, quietly. ”Marjory Veitch is no more in this house; with the escort of my servant she is on her road to Tweeddale. By this time she will be more than half-way there.”

He sprang at me like a wild thing, his face suddenly inflaming with pa.s.sion.

”You, you-” he cried, but no words could come. He could only stutter and gape, with murder staring from his visage.

As for me the pa.s.sion in him roused in me a far greater.

”Yes,” I cried, my voice rising so that I scarce knew it for mine. ”You villain, liar, deceiver, murderer, by the living G.o.d, the time has now come for your deserts. You tortured my love and hara.s.sed her with hateful captivity; you slew her brother, your friend, slew him in his cups like the coward you are; you drove me from my house and lands; you made me crouch and hide in the hills like a fox, and hunted me with your h.e.l.l-hounds; you lied and killed and tortured, but now I am free, and now you will find that I am your master. I have longed for this day, oh, for so long, and now you shall not escape me. Gilbert Burnet, this earth is wide, but it is not wide enough for you and me to live together. One or other of us shall never go from this place.”

He made no answer but only looked me straight in the face, with a look from which the rage died by degrees. Then he spoke slowly and measuredly. ”I think you are right, Cousin John,” said he, ”the world is too small for both of us. We must come to a settlement.” And in his tone there was a spice of pity and regret. Then I knew that I had lied, and that this man was stronger than I.

For a little we stood looking across the table at each other. There was an extraordinary attraction in the man, and before the power of his keen eyes I felt my wits trembling. Then, with his hand, he motioned me to sit down. ”The morning air is raw, Cousin John. It will be better to finish our meal,” and he called to his servant to bring in breakfast.

I have never eaten food in my life under stranger circ.u.mstances. Yet I did not fear aught, but satisfied my hunger with much readiness. As for him, he toyed and ate little. Once I caught him looking over at me with a shade of anxiety, of dread in his gaze. No word pa.s.sed between us, for both alike felt the time too momentous for any light talk. As the minutes fled I seemed to discern some change in his manner. His brows grew heavier and he appeared to brood over the past, while his glance sought the pictures on the walls, and my face in turn, with something of fierceness. When all was over he rose and courteously made way for me to pa.s.s, holding the door wide as I went out. Then he led me to a little room at the other side of the hall, whence a window opened to the garden.

”You wish to be satisfied,” he said, ”and I grant you that the wish is just. There are some matters 'twixt me and thee that need clearing.

But, first, by your leave, I have something to say. You believe me guilty of many crimes, and I fling the charge in your teeth. But one thing I did unwittingly and have often repented of. Michael Veitch fell by his own folly and by no fault of mine.”

”Let that be,” said I; ”I have heard another tale.”

”I have said my say; your belief matters naught to me. One thing I ask you. Where has the girl Marjory gone? If fate decides against you, it is but right I should have her.”

”Nay,” I cried, pa.s.sionately, ”that you never shall. You have caused her enough grief already. She hates the sight of you even as I, and I will do nothing to make her fall into your hands.”

”It matters little,” he said, with a shrug of his great shoulders. ”It was only a trifling civility which I sought from you. Let us get to work.”

From a rack he picked a blade, one such as he always used in any serious affray, single-edged and basket-hiked. Then he signed to me to follow, and opened the window and stepped out.

The morning was murky and damp. Fog clothed the trees and fields, and a smell of rottenness hung in the air. I s.h.i.+vered, for my clothes were thin and old.

Gilbert walked quickly, never casting a look behind him. First we crossed the sodden lawn, and then entered the pine wood, which I had skirted on the night before.

In a little we heard the roaring of water and came to the banks of the stream, which, swollen by the melting snows, was raving wildly between the barriers of the banks. At the edge was a piece of short turf, some hundred yards square, and drier than the rest of the ground which we had traversed. Here Gilbert stopped and bade me get ready. I had little to do save cast my coat, and stand stripped and s.h.i.+vering, waiting while my enemy took his ground.

The next I know is that I was in the thick of a deadly encounter, with blows rattling on my blade as thick as hail. My cousin's eyes glared into mine, mad with anger and regret, with all the unrequited love and aimless scheming of months concentrated in one fiery pa.s.sion. I put forth my best skill, but it was all I could do to keep death from me.

As it was I was scratched and grazed in a dozen places, and there was a great hole in my s.h.i.+rt which the other's blade had ripped. The sweat began to trickle over my eyes with the exertion, and my sight was half dazed by the rapid play.

Now it so happened that I had my back to the stream. This was the cause of my opponent's sudden violence, for he sought to drive me backwards, that, when I found myself near the water, I might grow bewildered. But I had been brought up to this very trick, for in the old days in Tweeddale, Tam Todd would have taken his stand near the Tweed and striven to force me back into the great pool. In my present danger these old memories came back to me in a flood, and in a second I was calm again. This, after all, was only what I had done a thousand times for sport. Could I not do it once for grim earnest?

In a very little I saw that my cousin's policy of putting all his strength out at the commencement was like to be his ruin. He was not a man built for long endurance, being too full in blood and heavy of body.

Soon his breath came thick and painfully; he yielded a step, then another, and still a third; his thrusts lacked force, and his guards were feeble. He had changed even from that tough antagonist whom I had aforetime encountered, and who taxed my mettle to the utmost. Had it not been that my anger still held my heart, and admitted no room for other thoughts, I would even have felt some compunction in thrusting at him. But now I had no pity in me. A terrible desire to do to him as he had done to my friends gripped me like a man's hand. The excitement of the struggle, and, perhaps, the peril to my own life, roused my dormant hate into a storm of fury. I know not what I did, but shrieking curses and anathemas, I slashed blindly before me like a man killing bees.

Before my sword point I saw his face growing greyer and greyer with each pa.s.sing minute. He was a brave man, this I have always said for him; and if any other in a like position, with an enemy at his throat and the awful cognisance of guilt, still keeps his stand and does not flee, him also I call brave.

Suddenly his defence ceased. His arm seemed to numb and his blade was lowered. I checked my cut, and waited with raised point. An awful delight was in my heart, which now I hate and shudder to think on. I waited, torturing him. He tried to speak, but his mouth was parched and I heard the rattle of his tongue. Still I delayed, for all my heat seemed turned into deadly malice.

Then his eyes left my face and looked over my shoulders. I saw a new shade of terror enter them. I chuckled, for now, thought I, my revenge has come. Of a sudden he crouched with a quick movement, bringing his hands to his face. I was in the act of striking, when from behind came a crack, and something whistled past my ear. Then I saw my cousin fall, groaning, with a bullet through his neck.

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