Part 24 (2/2)
”April wakes, and her heart is high, For the Ba.s.sarids and the Fauns are nigh, And prosperous leaves lisp busily Over flattered brakes, whence the breezes bring Vext twittering To swell the burden of burgeoning.
”April wakes, and afield, astray, She calls to whom at the end I say.
_Heart o' my Heart, I am thine alway_,-- And I follow, follow her carolling, For I hear her sing Above the burden of burgeoning.
”April wakes;--it were good to live (_Yet April pa.s.ses_), though April give No other gift for our pleasuring Than the old, old burden of burgeoning--”
He paused here. Not far ahead a woman's voice had given a sudden scream, followed by continuous calls for aid.
”Now, if I choose, will begin the first fytte of John Bulmer's adventures,”
he meditated, leisurely. ”The woman is in some sort of trouble. If I go to her a.s.sistance I shall probably involve myself in a most unattractive mess, and eventually be arrested by the constable,--if they have any constables in this operatic domain, the which I doubt. I shall accordingly emulate the example of the long-headed Levite, and sensibly pa.s.s by on the other side.
Halt! I there recognize the voice of the Duke of Ormskirk. I came into this country to find John Bulmer; and John Bulmer would most certainly have spurred his gallant charger upon the craven who is just now molesting yonder female. In consequence, my gallant charger, we will at once proceed to confound the dastardly villain.”
He came presently into an open glade, which the keen sunlight lit without obstruction. Obviously arranged, was his first appraisal of the tableau there presented. A woman in blue half-knelt, half-lay, upon the young gra.s.s, while a man, bending over, fettered her hands behind her back.
A swarthy and exuberantly bearded fellow, attired in green-and-russet, stood beside them, displaying magnificent teeth in exactly the grin which hieratic art imputes to devils. Yet farther off a Dominican Friar sat upon a stone and displayed rather more unctuous amus.e.m.e.nt. Three horses and a mule diversified the background. All in all, a thought larger than life, a shade too obviously posed, a sign-painter's notion of a heroic picture, was John Bulmer's verdict. From his holster he drew a pistol.
The lesser rascal rose from the prostrate woman. ”Finished, my captain,--”
he began. Against the forest verdure he made an excellent mark. John Bulmer shot him neatly through the head.
Startled by the detonation, the Friar and the man in green-and-russet wheeled about to find Mr. Bulmer, with his most heroical bearing, negligently replacing the discharged pistol. The woman lay absolutely still, face downward, in a clump of fern.
”Gentlemen,” said John Bulmer, ”I lament that your sylvan diversions should be thus interrupted by the fact that an elderly person like myself, quite old enough to know better, has seen fit to adopt the pursuit of knight-errantry. You need not trouble yourselves about your companion, for I have blown out most of the substance nature intended him to think with.
One of you, I regret to observe, is rendered immune by the garb of an order which I consider misguided, indeed, but with which I have no quarrel. With the other I beg leave to request the honor of exchanging a few pa.s.ses as the rec.u.mbent lady's champion.”
”Sacred blue!” remarked the bearded man; ”you presume to oppose, then, of all persons, me! You fool, I am Achille Cazaio!”
”I deplore the circ.u.mstance that I am not overwhelmed by the revelation,”
John Bulmer said, as he dismounted, ”and I entreat you to bear in mind, friend Achille, that in Poictesme I am a stranger. And, unhappily, the names of many estimable persons have not an international celebrity.” Thus speaking, he drew and placed himself on guard.
With a shrug the Friar turned and reseated himself upon the stone. He appeared a sensible man. But Cazaio flashed out a long sword and hurled himself upon John Bulmer.
Cazaio thus obtained a butcherly thrust in the shoulder, ”Friend Achille,”
said John Bulmer, ”that was tolerably severe for a first hit. Does it content you?”
The hairy man raged. ”Eh, my G.o.d!” Cazaio shrieked, ”do you mock me, you misbegotten one! Before you can give me such another I shall have settled you outright. Already h.e.l.l gapes for you. Fool, I am Achille Cazaio!”
”Yes, yes, you had mentioned that,” said his opponent. ”And, in return, allow me to present Mr. John Bulmer, thoroughly enjoying himself for the first time in a quarter of a century, Angelo taught me this thrust. Can you parry it, friend Achille?” Mr. Bulmer cut open the other's forehead.
”Well done!” Cazaio grunted. He attacked with renewed fury, but now the blood was streaming down his face and into his eyes in such a manner that he was momentarily compelled to carry his hand toward his countenance in order to wipe away the heavy trickle. John Bulmer lowered his point.
”Friend Achille, it is not reasonable I should continue our engagement to its denouement, since by that boastful parade of skill I have inadvertently turned you into a blind man. Can you not stanch your wound sufficiently to make possible a renewal of our exercise on somewhat more equal terms?”
”Not now,” the other replied, breathing heavily,--”not now, Monsieur Bulmaire. You have conquered, and the woman is yours. Yet lend me my life for a little till I may meet you more equitably. I will not fail you,--I swear it--I, Achille Cazaio.”
”Why, G.o.d bless my soul!” said John Bulmer, ”do you imagine that I am forming a collection of vagrant females? Permit me, pray, to a.s.sist you to your horse. And if you would so far honor me as to accept the temporary loan of my handkerchief--”
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