“And if I refuse?”

He came so near that I could see the lurking devil in his eyes.

“If you refuse?  Harken, John Ireton; if you had a hundred lives to thrust between me and the thing I crave, I’d take them all.”  So much he said calmly; then a sudden gust of passion seized him, and for once, I think, he spoke the simple truth.  “God!  I’d sink my soul in Calvin’s hell to have her!”

I could not wholly mask the smile of triumph that his words evoked.  This fox of maiden vineyards was entrapped at last.  I saw the fire of such a passion as such a man may know burning in his eyes; and then I knew why he was come upon this errand.

“So?” said I.  “Then Mistress Margery sent you here to save me?” ’Twas but a guess, but I made sure it hit the truth.

He swore a sneering oath.  “So the priest carried tales, did he?  Well, make the most of it; she would not have her father’s guest taken from his bed and hanged like a dog.”

I smiled again. “’Twas more than that:  she would even go so far as to beg her husband’s life a boon from that same husband’s mortal enemy.”

“Bah!” he scoffed.  “That lie of yours imposed upon the colonel, but I had better information.”

“A lie, you say?  True, ’twas a lie when it was uttered.  But afterward, some hour or so past midnight, by the good help of Father Matthieu, and with your Lieutenant Tybee for one witness and the lawyer for another, we made a sober truth of it.”

I hope, for your own peace of mind, my dears, that you may never see a fellow human turn devil in a breath as I did then.  His man’s face fell away from him like a vanishing mask, and in the place of it a hideous demon, malignant and murderous, glared upon me.  Twice his hand sought the sword-hilt, and once the blade was half unsheathed.  Then he thrust his devil-face in mine and hissed his parting word at me so like a snake it made me shudder with abhorrence.

“You’ve signed your own death warrant, you witless fool!  You’d play the spoil-sport here as you did once before, would you?  Curse you!  I wish you had a hundred lives that I might take them one by one!” Then he wheeled sharp upon his heel and gave the order to the ensign.  “Belt him to the tree, Farquharson, and make an end of him.  I’ve kept you waiting over-long.”

They strapped me to a tree with other belts, and when all was ready the ensign stepped aside to give the word.  Just here there came a little pause prolonged beyond the moment of completed preparation.  I knew not why they waited, having other things to think of.  I saw the firing line drawn up with muskets leveled.  I marked the row of weather-beaten faces pillowed on the gun-stocks with eyes asquint to sight the pieces.  I remember counting up the pointing muzzles; remember wondering which would be the first to belch its fire at me, and if, at that short range, a man might live to see the flash and hear the roar before the bullets killed the senses.