He knew
what the demands of discipline exacted, he knew what the inexorable
tyranny of the army enforced, he knew that he had found the life lost
to him for so long only to stand by and see it struck down like a shot
stag's.
Cecil's eyes looked at him with a regard in which all the sacrifice, all
the patience, all the martyrdom of his life spoke.
"Best, because a lie I could never speak to you, and the truth I can
never tell to you. Do not let her know; it might give her pain. I have
loved her; that is useless, like all the rest. Give me your hand once
more, and then--let them do their duty. Turn your head away; it will
soon be over!"
Almost ere he asked it, his friend's hands closed upon both is own,
keeping the promise made so long before in the old years gone; great,
tearless sobs heaved the depths of his broad chest; those gentle, weary
words had rent his very soul, and he knew that he was powerless here;
he knew that he could no more stay this doom of death than he could stay
the rising of the sun up over the eastern heavens. The clear voice of
the officer in command rang shrilly through the stillness.
"Monsieur, make your farewell. I can wait no longer."
The Seraph started, and flung himself round with the grand challenge of
a lion, struck by a puny spear. His face flushed crimson; his words were
choked in his throbbing throat.
"As I live, you shall not fire! I forbid you! I swear by my honor and
the honor of England that he shall not die like a dog.
Pages:
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853