Three Days of Sanctuary [pp. 311-324]

THREE DAYS OF SANCTUA RY.
sciousness of his intention stole more
distinctly upon her. But yet, with a certain wild impulse of heroism, she forbore
to urge him against his purpose. If, by
one action, he could redeem himself,
should she dare to restrain him?
At last, he lifted her head from his
shoulder, pressed one parting kiss upon
her lips, and tottered to his feet. Leaving her, half fainting, against the rail, he
slowly crept toward the open door, the
bright sword naked in his hand. Behind him, at a few paces' distance, softly
crept the robber, curious to mark the result. So the two advanced, and, at
length, Hugh Martelle stood near the
entrance and looked forth.
The moon was behind a cloud, and all
was dark, except where a few of the
larger stars gave forth an uncertain light.
At a little distance off could be seen the
great square which the palaces bounded, now alive with men carrying torches,
and the palace windows glowing with a
thousand lamps. It was a festive night.
Loud music rang upon the night air, and
chariots and chairs continually drew up
to the broad portico, bringing new guests.
But opposite the cathedral, the houses
clustered together in a black, indistinguishable mass, except where, here and
there, the shop-lights sent a feeble gleam
across the street. Few persons could
be seen; only, at stated distances, the relentless men-at-arms, with naked swords
in hand, silently watching the cathedral
door, so that none should escape unquestioned.
For a moment, the doomed man stood
just within the entrance and gazed out.
For that moment, perhaps, his soul
shrank within him, as he saw that he
was recognied by the pursuers, and that
at once every blade was pointed toward
him, in readiness to drink his blood.
Then, with a single glance behind, and
his lips moving in a muttered prayer, he
stepped outside, and the fierce work began. A short-lived work, indeed; for
what can any man, weak and worn with
wounds and hunger, do against numbers
who are strong and active? As he bared
his breast to meet the storm, he struck
down with desperation the first and the
second who ventured forward; but it was,
after all, a feeble resistance that he could
make-fighting with no hope of victory,
but with the single purpose to atone, by
a brave, manly ending, for the foul blight
upon his name.
"And it was well done, indeed, caitiff
though he may be," muttered the robber
to himself, as, after gazing for a moment
from the doorway upon the lifeless, bleeding body that lay in the street, with the
dark crowd of avengers pressing about
it, he strolled leisurely inward and up
the broad nave to where, against the
chancel - rail, reclined the half- senseless
form of the young girl.
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