Part 19 (1/2)
For some minutes their courage remained unshaken; but after that they ceased to boast, and began to look at each other in silent consternation, while their faces grew paler every instant. At last one or two rose and stood aloof; the others followed their example, and some grinding their teeth with rage, others chattering with terror, they all began to leave the room.
Only two remained beside the cask: Numa, who stood with his arms folded, leaning against the foot of the bed; and Lupuj, who was sitting on the rim of the cask with his back turned to the danger, and smoking furiously.
As soon as they were alone, the latter glanced behind him, and saw that the flame was within an inch of the powder.
”I'll tell you what, Decurio,” he said, springing up: ”we are only two left, don't let us make fools of each other; let us come to an understanding on this matter.”
”If you are tired of waiting, I can press the match lower.”
”This is no jest, Numa; you are risking your own life. How can you wish to send us both to h.e.l.l for the sake of a pale girl? But I'll tell you what--I'll give her up to you if you will only promise that she shall be mine when you are tired of her.”
”Remain here and win her--if you dare.”
”To what purpose?” said the Wallachian, in a whining voice; and in his impatience he began to tear his clothes and stamp with his feet, like a petted child.
”What I have said stands good,” said the Decurio; ”whoever remains longest has the sole right to the lady.”
”Well, I will stay, of course; but what do I gain by it? I know you will stay too, and then the devil will have us both; and I speak not only for myself when I say I do not wish that.”
”If you do not wish it, you had better be gone.”
”Well, I don't care--if you will give me a golden mark.”
”Not the half: stay if you like it.”
”Decurio, this is madness! The flame will reach the powder immediately.”
”I see it.”
”Well, say a dollar.”
”Not a whit.”
”May the seventy-seven limbed thunderbolt strike you on St. Michael's day!” roared the Wallachian fiercely, as he rushed to the door; but after he had gone out, he once more thrust his head in and cried:--
”Will you give even a florin? I am not gone yet.”
”Nor have I removed the match; you may come back.”
The Wallachian slammed the door, and ran for his life, till exhausted and breathless he sank under a tree, where he lay with his tunic over his head, and his ears covered with his hands, only now and then raising his head nervously, to listen for the awful explosion which was to blow up the world.
Meanwhile Numa coolly removed the match, which was entirely burnt down; and throwing it into the grate, he stepped over to the bed, and whispered in the young girl's ear: ”You are free!”
Tremblingly she raised herself in the bed, and taking the Decurio's large and sinewy hands within her own, she murmured: ”Be merciful! O hear my prayer, and kill me!”
The Decurio stroked the fair head of the lovely suppliant.
”Poor child!” he replied gently, ”you have nothing to fear; n.o.body will hurt you now.”