He was white as death, and pointed to the hilt of my sword and the demi-bear engrav’d thereon.
“He is dead,” I whisper’d: “hush!—turn your face aside—killed by those same dogs that are now below.”
I heard a sob in the true fellow’s throat. But on the instant it was drown’d by the sound of a door opening and the tramp of feet on the stairs.
VI
The Flight in the Pine Wood
By the sound of their steps I guess’d one or two of these dozen rascals to be pretty far gone in drink, and afterward found this to be the case. I look’d round. Sir Deakin had pick’d up the lamp and was mixing his bowl of punch, humming to himself without the least concern—
“Vivre en tout cas
C’est le grand soulas”—
with a glance at his daughter’s face, that was white to the lips, but firmly set.
“Hand me the nutmeg yonder,” he said, and then, “why, daughter, what’s this?—a trembling hand?”
And all the while the footsteps were coming up.
There was a loud knock on the door.
“Come in!” call’d Sir Deakin.
At this, Jacques, who stood ready for battle by the entrance, wheeled round, shot a look at his master, and dropping his point, made a sign to me to do the same. The door was thrust rudely open, and Captain Settle, his hat cock’d over one eye, and sham drunkenness in his gait, lurched into the room, with the whole villainous crew behind him, huddled on the threshold. Jacques and I stepp’d quietly back, so as to cover the girl.
“Would you mind waiting a moment?” inquir’d Sir Deakin, without looking up, but rubbing the nutmeg calmly up and down the grater: “a fraction too much, and the whole punch will be spoil’d.”
It took the Captain aback, and he came to a stand, eyeing us, who look’d back at him without saying a word. And this discomposed him still further.
There was a minute during which the two parties could hear each other’s breathing. Sir Deakin set down the nutmeg, wiped his thin white fingers on a napkin, and address’d the Captain sweetly—
“Before asking your business, sir, I would beg you and your company to taste this liquor, which, in the court of France”—the old gentleman took a sip from the mixing ladle—“has had the extreme honor to be pronounced divine.” He smack’d his lips, and rising to his feet, let his right hand rest on the silver foot of the lamp as he bowed to the Captain.
Captain Settle’s bravado was plainly oozing away before this polite audacity: and seeing Sir Deakin taste the punch, he pull’d off his cap in a shamefaced manner and sat down by the table with a word of thanks.
“Come in, sirs—come in!” call’d the old gentleman; “and follow your friend’s example. ’Twill be a compliment to make me mix another bowl when this is finish’d.” He stepped around the table to welcome them, still resting his hand on the lamp, as if for steadiness. I saw his eye twinkle as they shuffled in and stood around the chair where the Captain was seated.
“Jacques, bring glasses from the cupboard yonder! And, Delia, fetch up some chairs for our guests—no, sirs, pray do not move!”
He had waved his hand lightly to the door as he turned to us: and in an instant the intention as well as the bright success of this comedy flash’d upon me. There was now no one between us and the stairs, and as for Sir Deakin himself, he had already taken the step of putting the table’s width between him and his guests.
I touch’d the girl’s arm, and we made as if to fetch a couple of chairs that stood against the wainscot by the door. As we did so, Sir Deakin push’d the punch bowl forward under the Captain’s nose.
“Smell, sir,” he cried airily, “and report to your friends on the foretaste.”
Settle’s nose hung over the steaming compound. With a swift pass of the hand, the old gentleman caught up the lamp and had shaken a drop of burning oil into the bowl. A great blaze leap’d to the ceiling. There was a howl—a scream of pain; and as I push’d Mistress Delia through the doorway and out to the head of the stairs, I caught a backward glimpse of Sir Deakin rushing after us, with one of the stoutest among the robbers at his heels.
“Downstairs, for your life!” I whisper’d to the girl, and turning, as her father tumbled past me, let his pursuer run on my sword, as on a spit. At the same instant, another blade pass’d through the fellow transversely, and Jacques stood beside me, with his back to the lintel.
As we pull’d our swords out and the man dropp’d, I had a brief view into the room, where now the blazing liquid ran off the table in a stream. Settle, stamping with agony, had his palms press’d against his scorch’d eyelids. The fat landlord, in trying to beat out the flames, had increased them by upsetting two bottles of aqua vitae, and was dancing about with three fingers in his mouth. The rest stood for the most part dumbfound’d: but Black Dick had his pistol lifted.
Jacques and I sprang out for the landing and round the doorway. Between the flash and the report I felt a sudden scrape, as of a red-hot wire, across my left thigh and just above the knee.
“Tenez, camarade,” said Jacques’ voice in my ear; “à moi la porte—à vous le maître, là-bas:” and he pointed down the staircase, where, by the glare of the conflagration that beat past us, I saw the figures of Sir Deakin and his daughter standing.
“But how can you keep the door against a dozen?”
The Frenchman shrugg’d his shoulders with a smile—
“
