Robert Tournay Part 19

With these words the door was shut down and Leboeuf went out and up to the deck alone.

The vessel had reached a point in the river just outside the city. Here the stream narrowed and ran swiftly between the banks.

The sky was windy; and between the rifts of the high-banked clouds the moon shone fitfully. To the east lay the city of Tours, its spires standing out in sharp silhouette against the sky. On the river bank the wind swept over the dead, dry gra.s.s with a mournful, swaying sound and rattled the rotting halyards of the old hulk, which with one small sail set in the bow to keep it steady, made slowly down the river with the current, hugging the left bank as if fearful of trusting itself to the swifter depths beyond.

A rusty chain rasped through the hawse-hole, and the vessel swung at anchor.

In a small and close compartment in the s.h.i.+p's depths, totally without light, and with her nerves wrought upon by Leboeuf's appalling story, Edme could only guess at what was happening above her head.

She knew that something terrible was taking place. She could hear a confusion of cries and trampling of feet; of hoa.r.s.e shouts and commands; and she pictured in her imagination scenes quite as horrible as were actually taking place above her. In every wave that splashed against the vessel's side she could see the white face of a struggling, drowning creature, and every sound upon the vessel was the despairing death-note of a fresh victim. Through it all she could see the large face of Leboeuf leering at her with his bleary eyes. To have exchanged one fate for a worse one was to have gained nothing, and in her mental agony she almost envied those who a short time ago had been struggling helplessly in the hands of their executioners, and whose bodies now were quietly sleeping in the waters of the flowing river.

A quiet fell upon the vessel. The last cry had been uttered, the last command given, and no sound reached Edme's ears but the soft plash of the water as it struck under the stern of the boat.

Then the remembrance of Leboeuf's face and look became still more vivid. She feared him in spite of all her courage; in spite of her pride that was greater than her courage, she feared him. The knowledge that he was aware of his power and took delight in it made the thought that she would soon have to face him there alone more terrible than her dread of the worst of deaths.

A footfall sounded on the floor above her head. That it was not Leboeuf's heavy tread, Edme was certain. Rather than fall into his hands again she would trust herself to the mercies of the worst ruffian among the executioners, and she struck with her clenched hand a succession of quick knocks upon the trap.

The footsteps ceased, and in the stillness that followed Edme called out to the man above her and told him where to find the opening. In another instant the door was lifted up and she came up into the cabin.

"Kill me," she cried out; "throw me into the river if it be your pleasure, but I implore you, do not let"--

The man's hand closed over her mouth, and lifting her in his arms he carried her across the cabin. The room was dark; either Leboeuf had put out the light when he left, or the newcomer had extinguished it, but Edme saw that he bore her toward the window from which the lattice had been removed. She closed her eyes to meet the end. She felt herself swiftly lifted through the window, and then instead of water her feet struck a firm substance.

"Steady for one moment," said a voice in her ear as she opened her eyes in bewilderment to find herself standing on the seat of a small skiff, a man supporting her by the arm. Her face was on a level with the window, and looking back into the cabin she saw a light at the further end, as the bulky form of Leboeuf appeared at the door, lantern in hand, his heavy countenance made more ugly by an expression of surprise and rage.

Voices were heard in hot dispute, then came two pistol shots so close together as to seem almost one. A figure leaped through the smoke that poured from the window, and Edme from her seat in the skiff's bow where she had been swung with little ceremony, saw a man cut the line, while the other bent over his oars and made the small craft fly away from the vessel, straight for the opposite sh.o.r.e. The man who had leaped from the window took his place silently in the stern. Placing one hand on the tiller, he turned and looked intently over his shoulder at the dark outline of the prison s.h.i.+p, which was rapidly receding into the gloom.

His hat had fallen off, and in the uncertain light Edme saw for the first time that it was Robert Tournay.

Before a word could be uttered by any of them, a tongue of flame shot out from the vessel behind them, followed by a loud and sharp report.

The dash of spray that swept over the boat told that the shot had struck the water close by them.

The man at the oars shook the water from his eyes and redoubled his efforts. "Head her down the river a little," he said.

"But the carriage is at least two miles above here," replied Tournay.

"No matter," answered Gaillard. "The sh.o.r.e here is too steep. We must land a little further down."

Tournay altered their course and steered the boat slantingly across the current.

They were now nearing the right-hand sh.o.r.e, which rose abruptly from the river to a height of some twenty feet. The current here was swifter, and the greatest caution had to be exercised. A second flash flamed out from the prison s.h.i.+p, a sound of cras.h.i.+ng wood, and the little skiff seemed to leap into the air and then slide from under their feet, while the icy water of the Loire rushed in Edme's ears,--strangling her and dragging her down, until it seemed as if the water's weight would crush her. Then she began to come upward with increasing velocity until at last, when she thought never to reach the surface, she felt her head rise above the water and saw the cloudy, threatening sky, which seemed to reel above her as she gasped for breath.

Another head shot to the surface by her side, and she felt herself sustained, to sink no more. The words: "Place your right hand upon my shoulder and keep your face turned down the stream away from the current," came to her ears as if in a dream. Instinctively she obeyed.

With a few rapid strokes Tournay reached the sh.o.r.e. The bank overhung the river and under it the water ran rapidly.

With only one arm free he could not draw himself and Edme up the steep incline. Twice he succeeded in catching a tuft of gra.s.s or projecting root, and each time the force of the current broke his hold upon it, and twirling them round like straws carried them on down the stream.

Gaillard, who had been struck by a splinter on the forehead, was at first stunned by the blow, and without struggling was swept fifty yards down the river. The cold water brought him back to consciousness, and he struck out for the sh.o.r.e. He noticed, some hundred yards below, a place where the river swept to the south and where the bank was considerably lower. Allowing himself to be borne along by the current, he took an occasional stroke to carry him in toward the sh.o.r.e, and made the point easily.

Drawing himself from the water by some overhanging bushes, he shook himself like a wet dog, and sitting on the river's edge proceeded to bind up his injured eye, while with the other he looked anxiously along the river-side. Suddenly he bent down and caught at an object in the water.

"Let me take the girl," he said quickly. "Now your hand on this bush--there!" And with a swift motion he drew Edme up, and Tournay, relieved of her weight, swung himself to their side.

For a short time they lay panting on the bank. Gaillard was the first to get upon his feet.

"We shall perish of cold here," he exclaimed, springing up and down to warm his benumbed blood, while the wet ends of his yellow neckerchief flapped about his forehead.

"Can you walk, Mademoiselle de Rochefort?"

Edme placed her hand upon her side to still the sharp shooting pain, and answered "Yes."

"Good; the road is only a few rods from here, but we must follow it at least two miles to the west."

"I shall be able to do it!"

As she uttered these words the pain in her side increased. She felt her strength leave her, and but for the support of Tournay's arm she would have fallen to the ground.

"She has fainted," cried Tournay in consternation.

"No," she remonstrated feebly, struggling with the numbness that was overpowering her. "It is the cold. Let me rest for a moment; I shall be better soon."

"Mademoiselle, you must walk, else you will die of cold," exclaimed Tournay. "Take her by the arm, Gaillard."

Instead of complying with the request, Gaillard stood with head bent forward peering up the road into the night gloom.

"Gaillard! man, do you not hear me?"

"The carriage! I hear the rattle of its wheels," cried Gaillard joyfully. "Agatha can always be depended upon to do the right thing at the right moment!"

"Hurry to meet her," cried Tournay; "tell her we are here!"

Gaillard sprang rapidly forward, shouting as he ran.

"Courage but a little moment longer," whispered Tournay, and taking Edme in his arms he followed Gaillard as fast as his burden permitted.

She had not entirely lost consciousness, but cold and fatigue had combined to enervate and render her powerless of motion.

In a half swoon she felt herself carried she knew not whither. She felt Tournay's strong arms about her, and a sense of security came over her as she faintly realized that each step took her further away from the dreaded Leboeuf.

Tournay hastened toward the carriage. The wind swept freshly over the marshes, and he held Edme close as if to s.h.i.+eld her from the cold. Her hair blew back into his face, covering his eyes and touching his lips.

As he felt her soft tresses against his cheek his heart throbbed so that he forgot cold, fatigue, and danger.... Where they blinded him he gently put the locks aside with one hand in a caressing manner and looked tenderly down into the white face pressed against his wet coat.

The sound of wheels upon the frozen road came nearer. Lights flashed around a turn in the road, and Tournay staggered to the carriage door as the vehicle drew up suddenly.

"Hurrah!" cried Gaillard from the box, where he had taken the reins from the driver. "We have won!"