"Marlanx! By all the gods!" cried Baldos in despair. He had wounded his
man several times, though not seriously. He dared not turn to Beverly's
aid.
The scene was thrilling, grewsome. Within this narrow, dimly-lighted
underground passage, with its musty walls sweating with dampness and
thick with the tangled meshes of the spider's web, a brave girt and her
lover struggled and fought back to back.
To her dismay, Beverly saw the point of a sword at her throat.
"Out of the way, girl," the man in the cloak snarled, furious at her
resistance. "You die as well as your lover unless you surrender. He
cannot escape me."
"And if I refuse," cried the girl, trying desperately to gain time.
"I will drive my blade through your heart and tell the world it was the
deed of your lover."
Baldos groaned. His adversary, encouraged by the change in the
situation, pressed him sorely.
"Don't you dare to touch me, Count Marlanx. I know you!" she hissed." I
know what you would do with me. It is not for Graustark that you seek
his life."
The sword came nearer. The words died in her throat. She grew
faint. Terror paralyzed her. Suddenly, her heart gave a great thump of
joy. The resourcefulness of the trapped was surging to her relief. The
valor of the South leaped into life. The exhilaration of conflict beat
down all her fears. "Take away that sword, then, please," she cried, her
voice trembling, but not with terror now; it was exultation.
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