None the less, I did press him, inch by inch, driving him at each new clash of the steel a little deeper into the gloom that crowded close upon the narrow circle of candle-light.  He saw my object—­to push him to unfamiliar ground where he might trip and stumble in the darkness—­and he strove furiously to defeat it.  Yet he had no choice, and presently I had him among the empty wine-butts, foining and parrying for his life and pouring out such blasphemies as would make your blood run cold.

Here the end came quickly.  Being entangled among the broached butts he had no room to play skilfully.  So presently it chanced that he caught his point in the chine of a cask and his blade snapped short at the hilt.  With a yelling oath, hissing hot from the devil’s thumb-book, he snatched up the broken blade to fling and stick it javelin-wise in my shoulder; and then I saw the dull gleam of the candle-light on the barrel of a pistol.

Had he aimed the pistol at me, I trust I should still have given him his gentleman’s chance.  But when I saw him level the weapon at my dear lady ... they came in one and the same heart-beat; the sword-thrust that found his life and took it; the crash of the pistol-shot echoing like a clap of thunder in the close vault, and pitchy darkness to draw its curtain over all.

I know not how I reached her, pulling the broken sword-blade from my shoulder as I ran; nor can I tell you how an upgushing spring of thankfulness choked me when I found her unharmed by the bullet which had snuffed the candle out.

She was in a most piteous state, now it was all over; and though I charged it all where I supposed it should belong—­to the account of a natural womanly passion to cling to something in her moment of weakness—­yet the blood ran quick in my veins when she suffered me to lead her out of that dismal, smoking death-pit, she clinging to me the while so close that I could feel the warmth of her and the fluttering of her dear heart beneath my hand.

She said no word, nor did I, till we were come above stairs.  We found the rooms on the main floor deserted by all save the blacks, who were clearing away the debris of the feast of leave-taking.  In the hall we came upon old Anthony, putting on the chain of the outer door.  Here my lady drew apart from me.

“Is my Lord gone?” she asked.

“Yis, Missa.  He say tell yo’ he gwine tek it mighty hawd yo’ no come ter gib him de sti’up-cup.”

“And my father?”

“Gone to de lib’ry to wait fo’ Massa Pengarbin; yis, Missa.”

She turned away, shuddering at this mention of the factor for whose coming the master would wait long and in vain, and I heard her murmur:  “Oh, the horror of this night!” But in a moment she came back to me, and was her cool, calm self again.

“For that I am here, alive and well, I thank you, Captain Ireton.  Need I say more?”

I can not tell you what was in the words to make me hot with anger, as I had but now been hot with love.  But the new wound in my shoulder was bleeding freely, and I would not let her see I was hurt; and if aught will stanch a wound, ’tis anger.