Part 67 (1/2)

ALMOST A MURDER.

At the cliff's base, the action, simultaneous, is even more exciting.

Having left their boat behind, with a man to take care of it, the rescuers advance towards the inner end of the cove.

At first with caution: till pa.s.sing the rock-portal, they see the platform and those on it.

Then the young officers rush forward, with no fear of having to fight.

Instead of armed enemies to meet them, they behold the dear ones from whom they have been so long apart. Beside them, half-a-dozen figures, more like skeletons than men--with cowed, craven faces, seeming so feeble as to have a difficulty in keeping their feet!

With swords sheathed, and pistols returned to their holsters, the English officers hasten on, the young ladies rus.h.i.+ng out to receive them.

Soon they are together, two and two, b.r.e.a.s.t.s touching, and arms enfolded in mutual embrace.

For a while no words--the hearts of all too full for speech. Only e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns and kisses, with tears, but not of sorrow.

Then succeeds speech, necessarily brief and half-incoherent, Crozier telling Carmen that her father is still alive, and aboard the barque.

He lives--he is safe! that is enough.

Then in answer to his questions, a word or two, on her fide. But without waiting to hear all, he turns abruptly upon Harry Blew, who is seen some paces off. Neither by word, nor gesture, has the sailor yet saluted him. He stands pa.s.sive, a silent spectator; as Crozier supposes, the greatest criminal on earth. In quick retrospect of what has occurred, and what he has heard from Don Gregorio, how could it be otherwise?

But he will not condemn without hearing him, and stepping up to the ex-man-o'-war's man, he demands explanation of his conduct, sternly saying:

”Now, sir, I claim an account from you. Tell your story straight, and don't conceal aught, or prevaricate. If your treason be as black as I believe it, you deserve no mercy from me. And your only chance to obtain it, will be by telling the truth.”

While speaking, he has again drawn his sword, and stands confronting the sailor--as if a word were to be the signal for thrusting him through.

Blew is himself armed with both pistol and knife. But, so far from touching either, or making any sign of an intention to defend himself he remains cowed-like, his head drooping down to his breast.

He gives no response. His lips move not; neither his arms nor limbs.

Alone, his broad chest heaves and falls, as if stirred by some terrible emotion.

His silence seems a confession of guilt!

Taking, or mistaking, it for this, Crozier cries out:

”Traitor! Confess, before I run this blade through your miserable body!”

The threat elicits an answer.

”You may kill me, if you wish, Master Edward. By rights, my life belongs to ye. But, if you take it, I'll have the satisfaction o'

knowin', I've done the best I could to prove my gratefulness for your once savin' it.”

Long before he has finished his strange speech, the impending stroke is stayed, and the raised blade dropped point downward. For, on the hand which grasps it, a gentler one is laid, a soft voice saying:--

”Hold, Eduardo! _Dios de mi alma_! What would you do? You know not.

This brave man--to him I owe my life--I and Inez.”