Clash of Arms

Then, all together, they left the room and, making their way to the head of the stairs, looked down over it into the hall below.

And in a moment he knew-as the women knew, too, that neither was there any exit there.

Below, in that hall, were mustered De Bois-Vallée and some men-Beaujos being absent. Upon the huge table which had stood for unnumbered years within it, were laid all the firearms which they could hastily gather together; muskets and musketoons, fuzils and fuzees, pistols and petronels. Also other arms, halberds, axes, swords-they meant to make a stand for it!

As for De Bois-Vallée himself-his look appalled the women, if not Andrew, as they gazed down on him. His face was white-was it with fear or rage! – as he bent over the table, and, selecting two carbines, loaded them carefully; upon it, as he turned towards the great porte, outside which the murmurs had now increased to a roar, accompanied by heavy knocks and thumps-there was the grin of a devil at bay. Then, suddenly, they saw him point to a spot away down one of the passages leading out of the hall, saw the man Brach disappear, and, a moment or two later, come back, bearing in his arms a long ladder which he placed against the door. While, casting his eyes up over that door, Andrew saw that, above it, was a little window unnoticed hitherto by him-a window a foot square, but covered inside with a close-fitting shutter. And, since a few moments later he saw there was no glass to it, he judged that it was used only to admit air.

As he watched thus the trapped man in his own house, he saw him slowly mount half-way up that ladder, so that, at last, the top of his head was almost level with the lower part of the shutter, and take the carbines from his servitor's hands-then saw him suddenly stop in his upward progress. Stop, clinging to the ladder posts, his face half-turned round to those in the hall, the grin upon that face horribly intensified. For, even as he had thus half-mounted it, the beatings on the door against which the ladder leant had been redoubled.

"Surely," whispered Andrew, "they are using some tree-trunk as battering ram" – and it seemed as if the next moment must see that door fall in from the tremendous blows administered from the outside.

Next, a babel of voices and a shouting arose.

"Is the wolf there?" one called, while even as he did so another answered: "Be very sure he is"; and others were heard shouting: "Bring him forth. Give him to us, and we spare the house. Otherwise all are doomed."

And again the beatings and the buffetings were renewed, while now a part of the door a few feet from the ground was burst in, and through it there protruded the jagged edge of a hastily-chopped-down tree.

Andrew had guessed aright! They were using roughly-improvised battering rams!

For a moment the hunted wretch-the man caught like a rat in a trap-glared round his hall; even in the dim light and gloom Andrew could see his tongue rolling over his lips as though to moisten their feverish burning, then, urged by God knows what desperation-the desperation perhaps of despair, perhaps of tigerish rage and ferocity! – he leapt up the last remaining rungs of the ladder, carrying the carbines in his hand.

Leapt up, as the wild cat leaps up the branches of forest trees, until he was level with the little shutter, flung it open with one hand, and, in an instant, had discharged both carbines into the midst of whatever crowd might be without.

And he shrieked:

"Hounds, bélîtres, scum, he is here!" then flung the shutter to again and descended the ladder swiftly.

'Twas well that he did so; 'twas well he wasted no time. Ere he had reached the hall's stone floor that shutter fell in splinters after him, shattered by a score of bullets from without; also at this moment the upper part of the door was beaten in amidst terrible roars and howls and curses from the attackers. Fortunately for those in that hall, there were still some seven feet of the lower part left standing to protect them from the besiegers' shot.

"Save yourselves," cried De Bois-Vallée to his men. "Save yourselves. They may spare you. Me they will never spare. I must find a way."

And, flinging the lamp upon the flames of the fire-so that, after one brief moment of explosive brightness, the hall became all dark but for the remaining flames which glistened amidst the gloom like fiery eyes-he and all below were instantly obscured from the sight of those above.

CHAPTER XXVII

NEARER AND NEARER

"How can he escape?" Andrew whispered in Marion's ear. "The house is surrounded. There is no other outlet but the great door. Or do you know of aught?"

Yet, as he asked the girl that question, he told himself it was impossible there could be any such outlet known to her. Had there been she would have apprized him of it on the night when they made their first attempt to fly; would never have let the risk be encountered of endeavouring to unbar the great door while all round the hall lay the sleeping servants, ready to spring out on them at the first alarm. The question was useless!

It was answered, however, by a sound that caused him to start and look round-a sound that was, indeed, a laugh; yet one of so strange and sinister a nature that he almost shuddered as he heard it.

It came from the woman, Clemence. Then she spoke, while as she did so her great eyes gleamed and sparkled in so wild a manner that he imagined she had now become entirely demented.

"There is a way out," she said, "but none know it except he. Not even I-though often enough I tried to learn it from his father; have even in later days tried to make him tell it to me. Yet neither ever would! The wolves of Lorraine have expected to-night's work for generations-they have kept the secret to themselves."

"'Sdeath!" exclaimed Andrew, though the oath he used was stronger than this, "but he shall share his secret with us to-night. Where he goes forth we three go also-or he goes not at all. Quick, let us get near and stay near him. Ha! see, he comes this way. Mounts the stairs. Observe-stand by. We must keep him in sight."

It was as he had said. De Bois-Vallée was creeping up the stairs now-they could see a dark form against the balustrades coming up and up and up-once the dying embers of the fire in the hall below flickered into a fresh blaze-they could see, too, that he had discarded his pistols and carried in his hand his bare sword. Even saw the steel scintillating now and again in the faint glow sent up while he mounted.

Watching him coming towards them and, for certain, never dreaming of whom he would encounter above, it seemed to those three as though some hunted wild beast was fleeing for its life. Crawling up with one hand on the balustrade, the other grasping his weapon, they observed his bright red hair-for he was wigless-as he mounted. Watched, and saw also the terror-stricken glances he flung over his shoulder as, reaching the first landing, he knew that he could be seen over the top of the shattered door by those who might be standing in, or near, the doorway.

And that he was seen they learnt at once; there came two spits of flame from firelocks discharged outside, and, through the rent space, the sharp crack of the weapons; then, next, the splinters flying from two of the balustrade posts. And they saw the savage grin of hate and fury on his face-saw his white teeth gleam like a hunted wolf's, as he, himself the Wolf of Lorraine, ran round the landing and began to mount the next flight. The flight that would bring him to where they were!

From outside, too, they could hear the shouts of the avengers; hear harsh calls and cries in both the French and German tongues, derisive laughter, voices that called out, "the wolf is trapped! He can never escape! Fire not at him, let him find death in his own house of evil!" while, above all, the soft, silvery voice of a boy sang the strain, "Lorraine, Lorraine, ma douce patrie."

He turned once more-his foot on the first stair, a look of horror in his eyes as that sweet voice arose, turned and glared back again to the ruined door whence the sound entered. It almost seemed to those so close above him as though they heard him groan.

"Kill him," Clemence hissed in Andrew's ear. "Dead!"

Then, even as she spoke, the man fleeing from below sprang up the stairs that led to where they were, and so came full upon them.

Upon Clemence, regarding him with sparkling eyes, and with, on her face, a hideous smile; upon Marion Wyatt a little behind her.

Upon Andrew Vause standing also regarding him, his arms folded, but in his right hand his sword!

He reeled back gasping, astonished, perhaps terrified at the sight of those three figures standing at the top of the stairs.

Staggered back, though as he did so he shifted the sword he carried, so that he no longer held it by the blade in his left hand, but grasped its handle with his right. Yet, even as he thus reeled, and with even, as they observed by the light of the moon now streaming in through an upper window, the look upon his face of a hunted creature at bay doubly intensified, so, too, they saw the bewilderment he experienced at finding them there together.

"You are free!" He hissed; "and you, too!" while, as he spoke, he lifted his left arm and pointed with his forefinger up the few steps that separated him from them. "Free! No need to ask how. By her-the traitress!"

As he spoke he leapt up the remaining stairs, and, in the eyes of all of them there flashed a bright ray as though of phosphorus-a ray that seemed to be met and entwined with another. Then, a hiss of steel grating against steel and a clang, and the sword he had held a moment before in his hand, and had thrust out with murderous intent against the mad woman, slid down the steps hilt first.

"Not yet," said Andrew, lowering now his own point. "This is no time for murder nor-for execution. That comes later. Pick up your blade, Monsieur De Bois-Vallée, and sheathe it. Otherwise I take it away from you. There is something else to be done, ere you use it again-against me."

"Curse you! What?" yet as he spoke he obeyed Andrew, in so far that he reclaimed his fallen weapon. Also, as he did so-as he picked up the sword-he mounted the stairs one step higher.

"This; listen. There is a secret exit known to you from this doomed house-nay, deny it not, I know full well 'tis so-by that exit you are about to escape. So be it. 'Tis no intention of mine to prevent you. Only-"

"Only?" repeated De Bois-Vallée in a whisper. "Only?"

"You take us with you. Then, when we are outside, free from these howling Lorrainers who justly seek your life, you shall use that sword-against me. At once you shall use it. But, now, be quick, waste no time. Hark, see, look over, they are almost in your hall. There is, I say, no time to waste."

It was true! There was no time to waste! He, De Bois-Vallée, could see that as well as Andrew; glancing down through the rude-carved mediæval balustrades, he recognized the swift impending doom of his house.

For the door was almost down now-the shouts of the Lorrainers would have told that if nothing else had done so. Also the beating of axes and sledges on it, the clatter of countless feet outside on the stones, the glare of lights from torches and flambeaux that sent gleams through the windows, and winked and trembled on the carved beams of the stairs, and the armour and arms with which the ancient hall was hung, and lit up all their faces above.

Also, still, above all the noise outside, above the yells and execrations and curses of the Lorrainers, above their shouts and cries, and the firing of their weapons over the broken-down door into dark upper corners, there rose the sweet, clear voice of the boy singing, "Lorraine, Lorraine, ma douce patrie."

"You hear, you see!" Andrew said. "The end of you and of your vile house is at hand. All escape below is long since past. Lead us to the secret exit you know of."

He stood there before them; before the woman he had deeply wronged, though, as yet, Andrew knew not how; before the mad woman whose love had turned to gall and hate and treachery; before that huge avenger in whom he saw, and, seeing, recognized his doom. Stood before them, a shadow almost, in the fitful light which illuminated the darkness, as they, too, stood shadows before him.

"Quick," Andrew exclaimed again. "Quick. Or we all die together in this house. Only-you first. If you tarry longer-another moment-while I count ten-I fling you over to those men below," and as he spoke he advanced towards De Bois-Vallée.

Unheeding his actions, in truth not valuing these actions sufficiently to oppose them, his attention too much occupied by the awful destruction going on below, Andrew had let the villain surmount the topmost stair-gradually, and step by step-there being but three of them-so that now he stood on a level with the others. And in his hand was his sword.

Then, in answer, he spoke, while still his form was indistinct to them and he loomed a blurred figure near them.

"There is," he said, "no exit to this house. All here are doomed, all must die-"

"You lie," Clemence hissed, "you lie. Your father knew of one, you know it too."

"Quick," again said Andrew, "trifle no longer." And now he advanced to him, his own sword raised level with the other's breast. "Lead us to it, or this through you."

"Come then," the other said. "Come. Yet," he continued, muttering to himself, as though he meant them not to hear the savage words which he could not repress in his hate, "yet, if I had my way as I hoped to have had it, you should all have perished. All. All."

In truth, neither Andrew nor Marion Wyatt did hear these words, while if Clemence caught them she gave no sign. But still those marvellous eyes shone and sparkled, and the full liquid orbs never ceased their endeavour to pierce the darkness. Why did she watch him so?

But, in spite of Andrew not having caught his mutterings, he knew full well that this acquiescence might be a ruse of his enemy to take him unawares, wherefore he bent his face nearer to him-for, now (so great were the roars and the thunderings below) ordinary tones were of no avail-and said:

"Go first and turn not. If you do, I will run you through without hesitation. Also, sheathe your sword. Do as I say. Obey me."

He was obeyed; through the darkness he saw the other act as he commanded. Then, without another word, he again gave De Bois-Vallée the signal to go forwards. And, touching both the women by his side, he indicated that they too should follow the owner of the soon-to-be-destroyed house.

His arms stretched out in front of him as though groping his way, as indeed he was, De Bois-Vallée moved on now, one hand sometimes upon the rail that protected the uppermost landing from the well of the house, the other against the wall of the rooms opening from that landing. And, so, they reached at last the arched doorway that led to the steps by which the ascent to the garret was made.

"How escape thus?" asked Andrew, "there is no outlet there. This leads alone to the roof and to the oubliette. Beware, man, what you do! Your life is in my hands. Play me false and you lose it on the instant."

"The way is here," the other muttered, though loud enough for Andrew to hear him very well. "I know my own house."

"The way for all-not you alone?" and Andrew's voice sounded sinister and threatening to the other.

"Ay, for all."

Even as he spoke there came an increased din from below, and, though none spoke to the other, all knew, or imagined, what had happened.

The door was down-the besiegers in the house!

Soon-who could doubt it? – what else was there for those men of vengeance to do? – it would be in flames! Nothing could save it!

Or only one thing. The yielding up of De Bois-Vallée to their ire.

"Stop," he said, addressing him, "stop. You know what will, what must, happen next. It can be but one thing, the destruction of your house. Retrace your steps if you choose, defend the house singly if you desire-since I do believe that they come partly to rescue me, expect from me no help-give yourself up to them. Thereby the flames may be avoided. And-and-I grant you that respite."

For answer, the other snarled at him-Andrew could plainly see that he did so in the added light which now streamed up from the hall, illuminating all the balconies and corridors.

Then he spoke.

"It may be that they come to save you. Yet there can be few to whom you are known. Therefore, being here, they deem you my friend-or will when they see you."

"Your friend!" the tone contemptuous and full of loathing as Andrew answered him.

"Ay. If you doubt it-and since you are so bold and brave a man-show yourself to them and see."

For a moment, stung by the taunt of even such as he, Andrew was disposed to take him at his word. To descend towards those rioters, to thrust his head over the balcony. To call to them and say who he was and what he did in the house.

Another moment's reflection, and he decided against that resolve.

"Nay," he said, "nay. They may not know me-there are but one or two who have ever seen my face-a dozen bullets in my body would reward me for my pains and foolhardiness. Also, vagabond, you would be alone with the women. Even though I returned in safety it would be to find them dead at your hands-and you gone! Lead on, show us the way. We go together."

And, touching him none too gently, he urged him forward.

CHAPTER XXVIII

ESCAPE

Andrew shortened his sword at this time, for, since he could not doubt that De Bois-Vallée intended treachery, he meant to slay him at the first moment that treachery became apparent; meant to use the sword as a dagger and, striking down swiftly under the other's left shoulder, end him. That there should be no doubt of his intention, and because his action might not be perceptible in the obscurity around them, he whispered in De Bois-Vallée's ear a word to that effect. Took, too, his hand and placed it against his own where it grasped the blade low down, and ran that hand along it till it touched the point.

"He must know full well now," thought Andrew to himself, "what awaits him if he plays me false."

Then, as the other withdrew his own hand from the blade, they went on again.

By this time they were at the foot of the steps leading up to the garret; the garret where Andrew had lain a prisoner for so many days.

Behind him, encouraged now and again by a whispered word, and, in Marion Wyatt's case, by a gentle touch or so from his great hand, the women came-she next to him, Clemence behind.

As for the former, it seemed that the time had come when she could persevere no more. Her face was almost invisible, but her actions and her drooping attitude showed Andrew, as he peered through the darkness at her, that she could struggle little longer. Already she leant half-fainting, half in a stupor, on the woman, Clemence-it seemed that there was scarce any life or strength left in her.

"Courage, courage!" He whispered to the girl. "Courage. He must know some way out-there must be some secret doorway here leading to hidden stairs behind. Courage, I say. Lean on me. See, he mounts the stairs-once there he shows us the way, or dies."

But Marion could not answer now-her breath came in terrible gasps from her, she seemed choking, while at the same time almost incapable of further motion, although still she forced one foot after the other as, supported by Clemence, they stood at the bottom of the garret ladder. As for her, Clemence, she appeared to have superhuman strength; her arms around the tottering woman she helped her to mount those steps up which all went following De Bois-Vallée, whose almost indistinct figure crept forward in front of them. And now they stood within the garret itself, when Andrew, putting out his hand, laid it on the other man's shoulder.

"Go not so fast," he whispered in his ear. "The darkness is intense. We must not lose you. And," tightening his grasp on De Bois-Vallée's sleeve, "direct not your steps this way. The oubliette is here. Is it to that you lead us?"

From the man whom his hand clutched there came no word, only Andrew heard him catch his breath suddenly with a hoarse gasp; from the woman behind it seemed to him as though there came once more that low, gurgling laugh he had before remarked. Then he heard her whisper in his ear. "'Tis that-'tis that! Beware of-"

Her words were drowned by another roar from below-something fresh had occurred. What was it?

Their ears told them-sight was unnecessary, though that too aided them ere long.

They could hear the trampling of the men beneath, hear huge weighty things being thrown down in the hall, which fell with a sound resembling the fall of tons of lead, and they knew-Andrew and Clemence-perhaps, too, De Bois-Vallée-that they were trees being brought in and cast on the hall as fuel; they heard orders being given. Orders for powder-flasks and horns to be ignited beneath kindlings-another order that none should rush up the stairs to seek for the wolf.

"It is enough that he is here," a fierce, strident voice cried. "We know it. We will burn him in his hole as we burnt the bear last year. Pray God we see him rush out in flames as Bruin rushed."

And, even above the voice, pealed that of the boy singing:

"Lorraine, Lorraine, ma douce patrie."

From Marion there came at this added horror a shriek, long, wailing, piteous to hear, the shriek of one in mortal dread; Andrew's ears caught once again a hoarse whisper from Clemence, and the words, "this is death. So best!" In his grasp he felt the man whom he held shaking with terror, and then, suddenly, as he turned to speak another word of encouragement to Marion, he knew that De Bois-Vallée had escaped him Either in his terror, or in the quickly acquired knowledge that, as Andrew so turned, the grasp relaxed somewhat, he shook himself free.

He was gone! Escaped! There was nothing before Andrew but empty darkness! His sword told him that, as he plunged it furiously into the empty space in all directions, except where the women were.

"He has escaped," he whispered to Clemente. "Escaped, and left us here. Has reached the exit, and left us to die."

"Escaped?" she screamed. "Escaped? How? How? How?"

Yet in another moment it seemed as if her rage at this was swallowed up by some new idea.

"If he is gone," she said, "why let them destroy the house? And-surely if they know women are in it-they will spare us. She," and the woman cast her eyes upon the almost insensible form of Marion, "cannot descend to them. I will go myself."

"Nay, nay," said Andrew, "it will be useless. They will not believe. Will think 'tis but a ruse to save him and his house. 'Twill not avail."

Also he remembered, though he could not say so to her, that Jean and Laurent had hinted, even if they had not said so in as many words, that this woman was as unpopular in all the country round as the owner of Bois-le-Vaux himself, was regarded as an evil creature of his. What likelihood, therefore, that they would desist from glutting the passions now aroused in their breasts, or from their determination to destroy the house, should she show herself?

"I will come with you," he said a moment later, seeing that nothing could turn her from this newly arrived at determination. "There may be none who know me, and can thereby stay their comrades' hands, but, at least, one glance will show that I am not he. There is no resemblance betwixt us. We will go together."

"No! no! no!" she said, stopping in the descent she had already commenced on the stairs. "Man! are you mad? If there are none who know you they will deem, must deem, you his friend, accomplice. And," she went on, almost imperiously, "I bid you stay-for her sake," pointing to Marion as she spoke. "If a bullet find your heart or brain, what of her? She will be burnt to a cinder in this house."

It was true! He must not leave her; never leave her now. Death had threatened them, the end was very near-another hour and the mansion would be in flames; his place was by her side. Either in life or death! Henceforth, come what might-safety or destruction-they must find it together.

Even as he recognized that this was so, Clemence was gone, had descended the upper flight of stairs, was about to descend the lower. And as he, peering over once more, looked down, he knew the awful risk to which the woman had exposed herself.