Prisoners of Chance - Page 140/233

No hapless prisoner confined, as I have read they were in olden times, within a dungeon whose walls slowly closed to crush him into pulp, could have seen the coming of death, resistless and horrible, with clearer vision than was ours as that group of savages pronounced our doom. It was by exercising the greatest effort of will that I conquered the dread sense of utter hopelessness which seemed to numb my every faculty; for, although I was to be tortured to the end, and perish at last in utmost physical agony, yet before that moment came there still remained a duty to be performed for one I loved. For that I must retain mind and strength to act like a man.

Slowly, cautiously, moving inch by inch across the small space intervening, so as not to attract the attention of our guard, I crept forward, pausing at last close beside Madame. Even as I reached her the final warrior cast his useless vote with the others, the excited concourse voicing appreciation in noisy acclaim. I bent low, trembling from weakness, until my lips were close to her ear.

"Eloise," I whispered softly, forgetting at the awful moment that she possessed another name, "it has been voted that three of us perish by torture, but you are not in the list; you are named for a different fate. Is it still your wish that I fulfil the pledge?"

As she glanced up, the old war-chief pointed directly toward her. I could perceive the baleful gleam of his eyes, and noted with what quick aversion she shrank back until her shoulder pressed my own.

"Yes, Geoffrey Benteen," she made immediate, resolute answer. "It will be mercy. I beg you strike."

"You forgive the blow?"

"Forgive!" An instant her clear eyes, unfrightened, looked directly into mine, a message in their depths I had never seen there before. "More, I love the heart and hand which speed it."

My hands were bound tightly together, but my arms remained free, the hilt of the knife resting firmly between the palms. Although I drew my body somewhat back in readiness for the stroke, I delayed the terrible deed until the last possible moment, the perspiration standing in great beads upon my face. Oh, how I loved her then! how my half-blinded eyes feasted upon her sweet, sad face, the flames casting a ruddy glow upon it, and playing fitfully amid the masses of her dark, tangled hair! There swept across my mind every memory of our past, and she was again with me in her girlhood, before sorrow had stamped her with its seal, and she had turned me away tenderly as ever a woman could. And now she was doomed to death by my hand; with one blow I was to blot out the life I loved a thousand times better than my own. Merciful God! what a trick had fate played me! Nor durst I speak to her again, for her fingers toyed with the rosary at her throat, the beads glowing dully in the flame, and I knew she was in prayer, expecting with each instant the coming of that stroke which should send her trusting soul to God. I, who have seen much of conflict and peril, much of suffering and atrocity, look back on no moment in all my life so fraught with agony as this, when, grasping that deadly knife in both hands, I watched every threatening movement of the savage arbiters of her fate, praying unto God for strength with which to perform my duty.