suddenly rush at the sconces and knock the candles out of them on to
the stone floor, where they lay guttering. He supposed that she had
thought to disturb his dooms-man.

If she did so think she erred. St. Georges heard the crash of her arm
against the metal, but never turned his head--to take his eye off the
other's point would have been fatal!--instead, in the light given by
the fire he crept one inch nearer the other.

"Now," he said, "now, De Roquemaure!" and as he spoke the other felt
the iron muscles in the man's wrist forcing his blade down and down;
the point was level to his adversary's thigh; an instant more, and St.
Georges's sword would release his, would suddenly spring up and--a
moment later--be through his breast.

In his agony he shrieked, "_Au secours, au secours!_" and in a last
desperate effort leaped aside, the weapon that at that moment sought
his heart with a tremendous lunge piercing his arm alone.

Another moment and St. Georges had disengaged it, drawn it forth, and
was about to plunge it through the craven's heart--this time he would
not fail!--when he heard the rustle of the woman's riding robe behind
him, he felt a shock, and his arm instantly drop nerveless by his
side; the weapon fell from his hand, and he sank back heavily on the
stone floor, the room swimming before his eyes and all becoming
rapidly dark.

Roused by her lover's cry and frenzied by the immediate death which
she saw threatening him; driven almost mad also by the look of terror
and mortal apprehension on his face, she had sprung up the room,
reached St. Georges, and buried her dagger in his back. She had aimed
under his left shoulder, where she knew the region of the heart
was--it seemed her aim was true! As he fell to the ground she knew
that she had saved De Roquemaure. Yet her frenzy was not calmed; in an
instant she had seized the sword that still was grasped in her lover's
nerveless right hand, placed it in his left, and muttered swiftly in a
voice he did not recognise:

"Through his heart!--his heart, Raoul! That way. Otherwise it will
seem murder and confound us."

"I--I dare not," the scared man muttered, shaking all over. "I cannot,
I----"

"_Lache!_" and as she hurled the epithet at him she seized the weapon
herself in her own white jewelled hand and drew it back to plunge it
through his breast so that it should meet the wound behind.

Yet that was not to be. Even as she raised the sword the door was