CHAPTER XXXVII.
IN THE MIDST OF HER ARMY.
There was a line of light in the eastern sky. The camp was very still.It was the hour for the mounting of the guard, and, as the light spreadhigher and higher, whiter and whiter, as the morning came, a score ofmen advanced slowly and in silence to a broad strip of land screenedfrom the great encampment by the rise and fall of the ground, andstretching far and even, with only here and there a single palm tobreak its surface, over which the immense arc of the sky bent, gray andserene, with only the one colorless gleam eastward that was changingimperceptibly into the warm, red flush of opening day.
Sunrise and solitude: they were alike chosen, lest the army thathonored, the comrades that loved him, should rise to his rescue; castingoff the yoke of discipline, and remembering only that tyranny andthat wretchedness under which they had seen him patient and unmovedthroughout so many years of servitude.
He stood tranquil beside the coffin within which his broken limbs andshot-pierced corpse would so soon be laid forever. There was a deepsadness on his face, but it was perfectly serene. To the words of thepriest who approached him he listened with respect, though he gentlydeclined the services of the Church. He had spoken but very little sincehis arrest; he was led out of the camp in silence and waited in silencenow, looking across the plains to where the dawn was growing richer andbrighter with every moment that the numbered seconds of his life driftedslowly and surely away.
When they came near to bind the covering over his eyes, he motioned themaway, taking the bandage from their hands and casting it far from him.
"Did I ever fear to look down the depths of my enemies' muskets?"
It was the single outbreak, the single reproach, that escaped fromhim--the single utterance by which he ever quoted his services toFrance. Not one who heard him dared again force on him that indignitywhich would have blinded his sight, as though he had ever dreaded tomeet death.
That one protest having escaped from him, he was once more still andcalm, as though the vacant grave yawning at his feet had been but acouch of down to rest his tired limbs. His eyes watched the daylightdeepen, and widen, and grow into one sheet of glowing roseate warmth;but there was no regret in the gaze; there was a fixed, fathomlessresignation that moved with a vague sense of awe those who had come toslay him, and who had been so used to slaughter that they fired theirvolley into their comrade's breast as callously as into the ranks oftheir antagonists.
"It is best thus," he thought, "if only she never knows----"
Over the slope of brown and barren earth that screened the camp fromview there came, at the very moment that the ramrods were drawn out witha shrill, sharp ring from the carbine-barrels, a single figure--tall,stalwart, lithe, with the spring of the deerstalker in its rapid step,and the sinew of the northern races in its mold.
Cecil never saw it; he was looking at the east, at the deepening of themorning flush that was the signal of his slaughter, and his head wasturned away.
The newcomer went straight to the adjutant in command, and addressed himwith brief preface, hurriedly and low.
"Your prisoner is Victor of the Chasseurs?--he is to be shot thismorning?"
The officer assented; he suffered the interruption, recognizing the rankof the speaker.
"I heard of it yesterday; I rode all night from Oran. I feel great pityfor this man, though he is unknown to me," the stranger pursued, inrapid, whispered words. "His crime was--"
"A blow to his colonel, monsieur."
"And there is no possibility of a reprieve?"
"None."
"May I speak with him an instant? I have heard it said that he is of mycountry, and of a rank above his standing in his regiment here."
"You may address him, M. le Duc; but be brief. Time presses."
He thanked the officer for the unusual permission, and turned toapproach the prisoner. At that moment Cecil turned also, and their eyesmet. A great, shuddering cry broke from them both; his head sank asthough the bullet had already pierced his breast, and the man whobelieved him dead stood gazing at him, paralyzed with horror.
For a moment there was an awful silence. Then the Seraph's voice rangout with a terror in it that thrilled through the careless, calloushearts of the watching soldiery.
"Who is that man? He died--he died so long ago! And yet----"
Cecil's head was sunk on his chest; he never spoke, he never moved; heknew the helpless, hopeless misery that waited for the one who foundhim living only to find him also standing before his open grave. Hesaw nothing; he only felt the crushing force of his friend's arms flunground him, as though seizing him to learn whether he were a living manor a spector dreamed of in delirium.
"Who are you? Answer me, for pity's sake!"
As the swift, hoarse, incredulous words poured on his ear, he, notseeking to unloose the other's hold, lifted his head and looked fullin the eyes that had not met his own for twelve long years. In that onelook all was uttered; the strained, eager, doubting eyes that read theiranswer in it needed no other.
"You live still! Oh! thank God--thank God!"
And as the thanksgiving escaped him, he forgot all save the breathlessjoy of this resurrection; forgot that at their feet the yawning gravewas open and unfilled. Then, and only then, under that recognition ofthe friendship that had never failed and never doubted, the courageof the condemned gave way, and his limbs shook with a great shiver ofintolerable torture; and at the look that came upon his face, thelook of death, brute-like anguish, the man who loved him rememberedall--remembered that he stood there in the morning light only to beshot down like a beast of prey. Holding him there still with that strongpressure of his sinewy hands, he swore a great oath that rolled likethunder down the hard, keen air.
"You! perishing here! If they send their shots through you, they shallreach me first in their passage! O Heaven! Why have you lived like this?Why have you been lost to me, if you were dead to all the world beside?"
They were the words that his sister had spoken. Cecil's white lipsquivered as he heard them; his voice was scarcely audible as it pantedthrough them.
"I was accused--"
"Aye! But by whom? Not by me! Never by me!"
Cecil's eyes filled with slow, blinding tears; tears sweet as a woman'sin her joy, bitter as a man's in his agony. He knew that in this oneheart at least no base suspicion ever had harbored; he knew that thislove, at least, had cleaved to him through all shame and against allevil.
"God reward you!" he murmured. "You have never doubted?"
"Doubted? Was your honor not as my own?"
"I can die at peace then; you know me guiltless--"
"Great God! Death shall not touch you. As I stand here not a hair ofyour head shall be harmed--"
"Hush! Justice must take its course. One thing only--has she heard?"
"Nothing. She has left Africa. But you can be saved; you shall be saved!They do not know what they do!"
"Yes! They but follow the sentence of the law. Do not regret it. It isbest thus."
"Best!--that you should be slaughtered in cold blood!" His voice washoarse with the horror which, despite his words, possessed him. He knewwhat the demands of discipline exacted, he knew what the inexorabletyranny of the army enforced, he knew that he had found the life lostto him for so long only to stand by and see it struck down like a shotstag's.
Cecil's eyes looked at him with a regard in which all the sacrifice, allthe patience, all the martyrdom of his life spoke.
"Best, because a lie I could never speak to you, and the truth I cannever tell to you. Do not let her know; it might give her pain. I haveloved her; that is useless, like all the rest. Give me your hand oncemore, and then--let them do their duty. Turn your head away; it willsoon 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, wearywords had rent his very soul, and he kne
w that he was powerless here;he knew that he could no more stay this doom of death than he could staythe rising of the sun up over the eastern heavens. The clear voice ofthe 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 ofa lion, struck by a puny spear. His face flushed crimson; his words werechoked in his throbbing throat.
"As I live, you shall not fire! I forbid you! I swear by my honor andthe honor of England that he shall not die like a dog. He is of mycountry; he is of my Order. I will appeal to your Emperor; he willaccord me his life the instant I ask it. Give me only an hour'sreprieve--a few moments' space to speak to your chiefs, to seek out yourgeneral--"
"It is impossible, monsieur."
The curt, calm answer was inflexible; against the sentence and itsexecution there could be no appeal.
Cecil laid his hand upon his old friend's shoulders.
"It will be useless," he murmured. "Let them act; the quicker thebetter."
"What! you think I would look on and see you die?"
"Would to Heaven you had never known I lived----"
The officer made a gesture to the guard to separate them.
"Monsieur, submit to the execution of the law, or I must arrest you."
Lyonnesse flung off the detaining hand of the guard, and swung round sothat his agonized eyes gazed close into the adjutant's immovable face,which before that gaze lost its coldness and its rigor, and changed toa great pity for this stranger who had found the friend of his youth inthe man who stood condemned to perish there.
"An hour's reprieve; for mercy's sake, grant that!"
"I have said, it is impossible."
"But you do not dream who is--"
"It matters not."
"He is an English noble, I tell you--"
"He is a soldier who has broken the law; that suffices."
"O Heaven! have you no humanity?"
"We have justice."
"Justice! If you have justice, let your chiefs hear his story; lethis name be made known; give me an hour's space to plead for him. YourEmperor would grant me his life, were he here; yield me an hour--a halfhour--anything that will give me time to serve him--"
"It is out of the question; I must obey my orders. I regret you shouldhave this pain; but if you do not cease to interfere, my soldiers mustmake you."
Where the guards held him, Cecil saw and heard. His voice rose with allits old strength and sweetness.
"My friend, do not plead for me. For the sake of our common country andour old love, let us both meet this with silence and with courage."
"You are a madman!" cried the man, whose heart felt breaking under thisdoom he could neither avert nor share. "You think that they shall killyou before my eyes!--you think I shall stand by to see you murdered!What crime have you done? None, I dare swear, save being moved, underinsult, to act as the men of your race ever acted! Ah, God! why havelived as you have done? Why not have trusted my faith and my love?If you had believed in my faith as I believed in your innocence, thismisery never had come to us!"
"Hush! hush! or you will make me die like a coward."
He dreaded lest he should do so; this ordeal was greater than hispower to bear it. With the mere sound of this man's voice a longing, sointense in its despairing desire, came on him for this life which theywere about to kill in him forever.
The words stung his hearer well-nigh to madness; he turned on thesoldiers with all the fury of his race that slumbered so long, but whenit awoke was like the lion's rage. Invective, entreaty, conjuration,command, imploring prayer, and ungoverned passion poured in tumultuouswords, in agonized eloquence, from his lips; all answer was a quick signof the hand, and, ere he saw them, a dozen soldiers were round him, hisarms were seized, his splendid frame was held as powerless as a lassoedbull; for a moment there was a horrible struggle, then a score ofruthless hands locked him as in iron gyves, and forced his mouth tosilence and his eyes to blindness. This was all the mercy they couldgive--to spare him the sight of his friend's slaughter.
Cecil's eyes strained in him with one last, longing look; then he raisedhis hand and gave the signal for his own death-shot.
The leveled carbines covered him; he stood erect with his face fulltoward the sun. Ere they could fire, a shrill cry pierced the air.
"Wait! In the name of France."
Dismounted, breathless, staggering, with her arms flung upward, and herface bloodless with fear, Cigarette appeared upon the ridge of risingground.
The cry of command pealed out upon the silence in the voice that theArmy of Africa loved as the voice of their Little One. And the cry cametoo late; the volley was fired, the crash of sound thrilled across thewords that bade them pause, the heavy smoke rolled out upon the air; thedeath that was doomed was dealt.
But beyond the smoke-cloud he staggered slightly, and then stood erectstill, almost unharmed, grazed only by some few of the balls. The flashof fire was not so fleet as the swiftness of her love; and on his breastshe threw herself, and flung her arms about him, and turned her headbackward with her old, dauntless, sunlit smile as the balls pierced herbosom, and broke her limbs, and were turned away by the shield of warmyoung life from him.
Her arms were gliding from about his neck, and her shot limbs weresinking to the earth as he caught her up where she dropped to his feet.
"O God! my child! They have killed you!"
He suffered more, as the cry broke from him, than if the bullets hadbrought him that death which he saw at one glance had stricken downforever all the glory of her childhood, all the gladness of her youth.
She laughed--all the clear, imperious, arch laughter of her sunniesthours unchanged.
"Chut! It is the powder and ball of France! That does not hurt. If itwas an Arbico's bullet now! But wait! Here is the Marshal's order.He suspends your sentence; I have told him all. You are safe!--do youhear?--you are safe! How he looks! Is he grieved to live? Mes Francais!Tell him clearer than I can tell--here is the order. The General musthave it. No--not out of my hand till the General sees it. Fetch him,some of you--fetch him to me."
"Great Heavens! You have given your life for mine!"
The words broke from him in an agony as he held her upward against hisheart, himself so blind, so stunned, with the sudden recall from deathto life, and with the sacrifice whereby life was thus brought to him,that he could scarce see her face, scarce hear her voice, but onlydimly, incredulously, terribly knew, in some vague sense, that she wasdying, and dying thus for him.
She smiled up in his eyes, while even in that moment, when her life wasbroken down like a wounded bird's, and the shots had pierced throughfrom her shoulder to her bosom, a hot, scarlet flush came over hercheeks as she felt his touch, and rested on his heart.
"A life! what is it to give? We hold it in our hands every hour, wesoldiers, and toss it in change for a draught of wine. Lay me down onthe ground--at your feet--so! I shall live longest that way, and I havemuch to tell. How they crowd around me! Mes soldats, do not make thatgrief and that rage over me. They are sorry they fired; that is foolish.They were only doing their duty, and they could not hear me in time."
But the brave words could not console those who had killed the Child ofthe Tricolor; they flung their carbines away, they beat their breasts,they cursed themselves and the mother who had borne them; the silent,rigid, motionless phalanx that had stood there in the dawn to seedeath dealt in the inexorable penalty of the law was broken up into atumultuous, breathless, heart-stricken, infuriated throng, maddened withremorse, convulsed with sorrow, turning wild eyes of hate on him as onthe cause through which their darling had been stricken. He, laying herdown with unspeakable gentleness as she had bidden him, hung over her,leaning her head against his arm, and watching in paralyzed horrorthe helplessness of the quivering limbs, the slow flowing of the bloodbeneath the Cross that shone where that young heroic heart so soon wouldbeat no
more.
"Oh, my child, my child!" he moaned, as the full might and meaning ofthis devotion which had saved him at such cost rushed on him. "What amI worth that you should perish for me? Better a thousand times have leftme to my fate! Such nobility, such sacrifice, such love!"
The hot color flushed her face once more; she was strong to the last toconceal that passion for which she was still content to perish in heryouth.
"Chut! We are comrades, and you are a brave man. I would do the same forany of my Spahis. Look you, I never heard of your arrest till I heard,too, of your sentence----"
She paused a moment, and her features grew white and quivered with painand with the oppression that seemed to lie like lead upon her chest. Butshe forced herself to be stronger than the anguish which assailed herstrength; and she motioned them all to be silent as she spoke on whileher voice still should serve her.
"They will tell you how I did it--I have not time. The Marshal gave hisword you shall be saved; there is no fear. That is your friend who bendsover me here?--is it not? A fair face, a brave face! You will go back toyour land--you will live among your own people--and she, she will loveyou now--now she knows you are of her Order!"
Something of the old thrill of jealous dread and hate quivered throughthe words, but the purer nobler nature vanquished it; she smiled up inhis eyes, heedless of the tumult round them.
"You will be happy. That is well. Look you--it is nothing that I did.I would have done it for any one of my soldiers. And for this"--shetouched the blood flowing from her side with the old, bright, bravesmile--"it was an accident; they must not grieve for it. My men are goodto me; they will feel much regret and remorse; but do not let them. I amglad to die."
The words were unwavering and heroic; but for one moment a convulsionwent over her face; the young life was so strong in her, the youngspirit was so joyous in her, existence was so new, so fresh, so bright,so dauntless a thing to Cigarette. She loved life; the darkness, theloneliness, the annihilation of death were horrible to her as theblackness and the solitude of night to a young child. Death, like night,can be welcome only to the weary, and she was weary of nothing on theearth that bore her buoyant steps; the suns, the winds, the delights ofthe sights, the joys of the senses, the music of her own laughter, themere pleasure of the air upon her cheeks, or of the blue sky above herhead, were all so sweet to her. Her welcome of her death-shot was theonly untruth that had ever soiled her fearless lips. Death was terrible;yet she was content--content to have come to it for his sake.
There was a ghastly, stricken silence round her. The order she hadbrought had just been glanced at, but no other thought was with the mostcallous there than the heroism of her act, than the martyrdom of herdeath.
The color was fast passing from her lips, and a mortal pallor settlingthere in the stead of that rich, bright hue, once warm as the scarletheart of the pomegranate. Her head leaned back on Cecil's breast and shefelt the great burning tears fall, one by one, upon her brow as hehung speechless over her; she put her hand upward and touched his eyessoftly.
"Chut! What is it to die--just to die? You have lived your martyrdom;I could not have done that. Listen, just one moment. You will be rich.Take care of the old man--he will not trouble long--and of Vole-qui-veutand Etoile, and Boule Blanche, and the rat, and all the dogs, will you?They will show you the Chateau de Cigarette in Algiers. I should notlike to think that they would starve."
She felt his lips move with the promise he could not find voice toutter; and she thanked him with that old child-like smile that had lostnothing of its light.
"That is good; they will be happy with you. And see here--that Arab musthave back his white horse; he alone saved you. Have heed that they sparehim. And make my grave somewhere where my army passes; where I can hearthe trumpets, and the arms, and the passage of the troops--O God! Iforgot! I shall not wake when the bugles sound. It will all end now;will it not? That is horrible, horrible!"
A shudder shook her as, for the moment, the full sense that all herglowing, redundant, sunlit, passionate life was crushed out forever fromits place upon the earth forced itself on and overwhelmed her. But shewas of too brave a mold to suffer any foe--even the foe that conquerskings--to have power to appall her. She raised herself, and looked atthe soldiery around her, among them the men whose carbines had killedher, whose anguish was like the heart-rending anguish of women.
"Mes Francais! That was a foolish word of mine. How many of my bravesthave fallen in death; and shall I be afraid of what they welcomed? Donot grieve like that. You could not help it; you were doing your duty.If the shots had not come to me, they would have gone to him; and he hasbeen unhappy so long, and borne wrong so patiently, he has earned theright to live and enjoy. Now I--I have been happy all my days, like abird, like a kitten, like a foal, just from being young and taking nothought. I should have had to suffer if I had lived. It is much best asit is----"
Her voice failed her when she had spoken the heroic words; loss of bloodwas fast draining all strength from her, and she quivered in a tortureshe could not wholly conceal. He for whom she perished hung over her inan agony greater far than hers. It seemed a hideous dream to him thatthis child lay dying in his stead.
"Can nothing save her?" he cried aloud. "O God! that you had fired onemoment sooner!"
She heard; and looked up at him with a look in which all the passionate,hopeless, imperishable love she had resisted and concealed so long spokewith an intensity she never dreamed.
"She is content," she whispered softly. "You did not understand herrightly; that was all."
"All! O God, how I have wronged you!"
The full strength, and nobility, and devotion of this passion he haddisbelieved in and neglected rushed on him as he met her eyes; for thefirst time he saw her as she was; for the first time he saw all of whichthe splendid heroism of this untrained nature would have been capableunder a different fate. And it struck him suddenly, heavily, as with ablow; it filled him with a passion of remorse.
"My darling! my darling! what have I done to be worthy of such love?"he murmured while the tears fell from his blinded eyes, and his headdrooped until his lips met hers. At the first utterance of that wordbetween them, at the unconscious tenderness of his kisses that had theanguish of a farewell in them, the color suddenly flushed all over herblanched face; she trembled in his arms; and a great, shivering sigh ranthrough her. It came too late, this warmth of love. She learned whatits sweetness might have been only when her lips grew numb, and hereyes sightless, and her heart without pulse, and her senses withoutconsciousness.
"Hush!" she answered, with a look that pierced his soul. "Keep thosekisses for Milady. She will have the right to love you; she is of your'aristocrats,' she is not 'unsexed.' As for me--I am only a littletrooper who has saved my comrade! My soldiers, come round me oneinstant; I shall not long find words."
Her eyes closed as she spoke; a deadly faintness and coldness passedover her; and she gasped for breath. A moment, and the resolute couragein her conquered; her eyes opened and rested on the war-worn faces ofher "children"--rested in a long, last look of unspeakable wistfulnessand tenderness.
"I cannot speak as I would," she said at length, while her voice grewvery faint. "But I have loved you. All is said!"
All was uttered in those four brief words. "She had loved them." Thewhole story of her young life was told in the single phrase. And thegaunt, battle-scarred, murderous, ruthless veterans of Africa who heardher could have turned their weapons against their own breasts, andsheathed them there, rather than have looked on to see their darlingdie.
"I have been too quick in anger sometimes--forgive it," she said gently."And do not fight and curse among yourselves; it is bad amid brethren.Bury my Cross with me, if they will let you; and let the colors be overmy grave, if you can. Think of me when you go into battle; and tell themin France----"
For the first time her eyes filled with great tears as the name of herbeloved land paused upon her lips. She stretched her a
rms out with agesture of infinite longing, like a lost child that vainly seeks itsmother.
"If I could only see France once more! France----"
It was the last word upon her utterance; her eyes met Cecil's in onefleeting, upward glance of unutterable tenderness, then, with her handsstill stretched out westward to where her country was, and with thedauntless heroism of her smile upon her face like light, she gave atired sigh as of a child that sinks to sleep, and in the midst of herArmy of Africa the Little One lay dead.