For one brief instant a wave of joy caught and flung me upon its highest crest, and all these savage tormentors could do to me became as naught.  Then the true meaning of this her brave Ave atque vale smote me like a space-flung meteor, and the joy-wave became an ocean of despair to engulf me in its blackest depths.  The letter was never meant for me; ’twas for Richard Jennifer, who, as she would think, must know the story of her marriage to his friend and must believe her love went with the giving of her hand.  And she named him Lion-Heart because he was brave, and true, and strong, like that first English Richard of the kingly line.

I thrust the message back upon the bearer of it, begging him in dumb show to give it quickly to my companion.  I knew not at the time if he did it, being so crushed and blinded by this fresh misery.  But when the Indians drew off to ring us in a chanting circle for the final act, I would not let the lad see my face for fear he might fathom the heart-break in me and know the cause of it.

’Twas at this crisis, when all was ready and one had run to fetch the fire, that I heard a smothered oath from Dick and saw the Indian who was coming up to fire the wood heaps drop his brand and tread upon it.

“Ecod!” said a voice, courtier-like and smoothly modulated. “’Tis most devilish lucky I came, Captain Ireton.  Another moment and they would have grilled you in the king’s uniform—­a rank treason, to say naught of poor Jack Warden left without a clout to cover him.”

It needed not the glance aside to name mine enemy.  But I would not pleasure him with an answer.  Neither would Richard Jennifer.  He stood silent for a little space, smiling and nursing his chin in one hand, as his habit was.  Then he spoke again.

“I came to bid you God-speed, gentlemen.  You tumbled bravely into my little trap.  I made no doubt you’d follow where the lady led, and so you did.  But you’ll turn back from this, I do assure you, if there be any virtue in an Indian barbecue.”

At this Richard could hold in no longer.

“Curse you!” he gritted.  “Do you mean that you kidnapped Mistress Stair to draw us out of hiding?”

“Truly,” said this arch-fiend, smiling again.  “Most unluckily for you, you both stood in my way,—­you see I am speaking of it now as a thing past,—­and I chanced upon this thought of killing two birds with the one stone; nay, three, I should say, if you count the lady in.”

“Have done!” choked Richard, in a voice thick with impotent rage.  “Give place, you hound, and let your savages to their work!”

“At your pleasure, Mr. Jennifer.  I have no fancy for funeral baked meats, hot or cold, though they be made, as now, to furnish forth a marriage supper.  I bid you good night, gentlemen.  I’ll go and make that call upon the lady which you were so rude as to interrupt a little while ago.”  And with that he turned his back upon us and strode away, forgetting to tell his redskinned myrmidons to strip me of that king’s uniform he was so loath to have me burned in.