"Save yourselves," cried De Bois-Vallée to his men. "Save yourselves. They may spare you. Me they will never spare. I must find a way."
And, flinging the lamp upon the flames of the fire-so that, after one brief moment of explosive brightness, the hall became all dark but for the remaining flames which glistened amidst the gloom like fiery eyes-he and all below were instantly obscured from the sight of those above.
CHAPTER XXVII
NEARER AND NEARER
"How can he escape?" Andrew whispered in Marion's ear. "The house is surrounded. There is no other outlet but the great door. Or do you know of aught?"
Yet, as he asked the girl that question, he told himself it was impossible there could be any such outlet known to her. Had there been she would have apprized him of it on the night when they made their first attempt to fly; would never have let the risk be encountered of endeavouring to unbar the great door while all round the hall lay the sleeping servants, ready to spring out on them at the first alarm. The question was useless!
It was answered, however, by a sound that caused him to start and look round-a sound that was, indeed, a laugh; yet one of so strange and sinister a nature that he almost shuddered as he heard it.
It came from the woman, Clemence. Then she spoke, while as she did so her great eyes gleamed and sparkled in so wild a manner that he imagined she had now become entirely demented.
"There is a way out," she said, "but none know it except he. Not even I-though often enough I tried to learn it from his father; have even in later days tried to make him tell it to me. Yet neither ever would! The wolves of Lorraine have expected to-night's work for generations-they have kept the secret to themselves."
"'Sdeath!" exclaimed Andrew, though the oath he used was stronger than this, "but he shall share his secret with us to-night. Where he goes forth we three go also-or he goes not at all. Quick, let us get near and stay near him. Ha! see, he comes this way. Mounts the stairs. Observe-stand by. We must keep him in sight."
It was as he had said. De Bois-Vallée was creeping up the stairs now-they could see a dark form against the balustrades coming up and up and up-once the dying embers of the fire in the hall below flickered into a fresh blaze-they could see, too, that he had discarded his pistols and carried in his hand his bare sword. Even saw the steel scintillating now and again in the faint glow sent up while he mounted.
Watching him coming towards them and, for certain, never dreaming of whom he would encounter above, it seemed to those three as though some hunted wild beast was fleeing for its life. Crawling up with one hand on the balustrade, the other grasping his weapon, they observed his bright red hair-for he was wigless-as he mounted. Watched, and saw also the terror-stricken glances he flung over his shoulder as, reaching the first landing, he knew that he could be seen over the top of the shattered door by those who might be standing in, or near, the doorway.
And that he was seen they learnt at once; there came two spits of flame from firelocks discharged outside, and, through the rent space, the sharp crack of the weapons; then, next, the splinters flying from two of the balustrade posts. And they saw the savage grin of hate and fury on his face-saw his white teeth gleam like a hunted wolf's, as he, himself the Wolf of Lorraine, ran round the landing and began to mount the next flight. The flight that would bring him to where they were!
From outside, too, they could hear the shouts of the avengers; hear harsh calls and cries in both the French and German tongues, derisive laughter, voices that called out, "the wolf is trapped! He can never escape! Fire not at him, let him find death in his own house of evil!" while, above all, the soft, silvery voice of a boy sang the strain, "Lorraine, Lorraine, ma douce patrie."
He turned once more-his foot on the first stair, a look of horror in his eyes as that sweet voice arose, turned and glared back again to the ruined door whence the sound entered. It almost seemed to those so close above him as though they heard him groan.
"Kill him," Clemence hissed in Andrew's ear. "Dead!"
Then, even as she spoke, the man fleeing from below sprang up the stairs that led to where they were, and so came full upon them.
Upon Clemence, regarding him with sparkling eyes, and with, on her face, a hideous smile; upon Marion Wyatt a little behind her.
Upon Andrew Vause standing also regarding him, his arms folded, but in his right hand his sword!
He reeled back gasping, astonished, perhaps terrified at the sight of those three figures standing at the top of the stairs.
Staggered back, though as he did so he shifted the sword he carried, so that he no longer held it by the blade in his left hand, but grasped its handle with his right. Yet, even as he thus reeled, and with even, as they observed by the light of the moon now streaming in through an upper window, the look upon his face of a hunted creature at bay doubly intensified, so, too, they saw the bewilderment he experienced at finding them there together.
"You are free!" He hissed; "and you, too!" while, as he spoke, he lifted his left arm and pointed with his forefinger up the few steps that separated him from them. "Free! No need to ask how. By her-the traitress!"
As he spoke he leapt up the remaining stairs, and, in the eyes of all of them there flashed a bright ray as though of phosphorus-a ray that seemed to be met and entwined with another. Then, a hiss of steel grating against steel and a clang, and the sword he had held a moment before in his hand, and had thrust out with murderous intent against the mad woman, slid down the steps hilt first.
"Not yet," said Andrew, lowering now his own point. "This is no time for murder nor-for execution. That comes later. Pick up your blade, Monsieur De Bois-Vallée, and sheathe it. Otherwise I take it away from you. There is something else to be done, ere you use it again-against me."
"Curse you! What?" yet as he spoke he obeyed Andrew, in so far that he reclaimed his fallen weapon. Also, as he did so-as he picked up the sword-he mounted the stairs one step higher.
"This; listen. There is a secret exit known to you from this doomed house-nay, deny it not, I know full well 'tis so-by that exit you are about to escape. So be it. 'Tis no intention of mine to prevent you. Only-"
"Only?" repeated De Bois-Vallée in a whisper. "Only?"
"You take us with you. Then, when we are outside, free from these howling Lorrainers who justly seek your life, you shall use that sword-against me. At once you shall use it. But, now, be quick, waste no time. Hark, see, look over, they are almost in your hall. There is, I say, no time to waste."
It was true! There was no time to waste! He, De Bois-Vallée, could see that as well as Andrew; glancing down through the rude-carved mediæval balustrades, he recognized the swift impending doom of his house.
For the door was almost down now-the shouts of the Lorrainers would have told that if nothing else had done so. Also the beating of axes and sledges on it, the clatter of countless feet outside on the stones, the glare of lights from torches and flambeaux that sent gleams through the windows, and winked and trembled on the carved beams of the stairs, and the armour and arms with which the ancient hall was hung, and lit up all their faces above.
Also, still, above all the noise outside, above the yells and execrations and curses of the Lorrainers, above their shouts and cries, and the firing of their weapons over the broken-down door into dark upper corners, there rose the sweet, clear voice of the boy singing, "Lorraine, Lorraine, ma douce patrie."
"You hear, you see!" Andrew said. "The end of you and of your vile house is at hand. All escape below is long since past. Lead us to the secret exit you know of."
He stood there before them; before the woman he had deeply wronged, though, as yet, Andrew knew not how; before the mad woman whose love had turned to gall and hate and treachery; before that huge avenger in whom he saw, and, seeing, recognized his doom. Stood before them, a shadow almost, in the fitful light which illuminated the darkness, as they, too, stood shadows before him.
"Quick," Andrew exclaimed again. "Quick. Or we all die together in this house. Only-you first. If you tarry longer-another moment-while I count ten-I fling you over to those men below," and as he spoke he advanced towards De Bois-Vallée.
Unheeding his actions, in truth not valuing these actions sufficiently to oppose them, his attention too much occupied by the awful destruction going on below, Andrew had let the villain surmount the topmost stair-gradually, and step by step-there being but three of them-so that now he stood on a level with the others. And in his hand was his sword.
Then, in answer, he spoke, while still his form was indistinct to them and he loomed a blurred figure near them.
"There is," he said, "no exit to this house. All here are doomed, all must die-"
"You lie," Clemence hissed, "you lie. Your father knew of one, you know it too."
"Quick," again said Andrew, "trifle no longer." And now he advanced to him, his own sword raised level with the other's breast. "Lead us to it, or this through you."
"Come then," the other said. "Come. Yet," he continued, muttering to himself, as though he meant them not to hear the savage words which he could not repress in his hate, "yet, if I had my way as I hoped to have had it, you should all have perished. All. All."
In truth, neither Andrew nor Marion Wyatt did hear these words, while if Clemence caught them she gave no sign. But still those marvellous eyes shone and sparkled, and the full liquid orbs never ceased their endeavour to pierce the darkness. Why did she watch him so?
But, in spite of Andrew not having caught his mutterings, he knew full well that this acquiescence might be a ruse of his enemy to take him unawares, wherefore he bent his face nearer to him-for, now (so great were the roars and the thunderings below) ordinary tones were of no avail-and said:
"Go first and turn not. If you do, I will run you through without hesitation. Also, sheathe your sword. Do as I say. Obey me."
He was obeyed; through the darkness he saw the other act as he commanded. Then, without another word, he again gave De Bois-Vallée the signal to go forwards. And, touching both the women by his side, he indicated that they too should follow the owner of the soon-to-be-destroyed house.
His arms stretched out in front of him as though groping his way, as indeed he was, De Bois-Vallée moved on now, one hand sometimes upon the rail that protected the uppermost landing from the well of the house, the other against the wall of the rooms opening from that landing. And, so, they reached at last the arched doorway that led to the steps by which the ascent to the garret was made.
"How escape thus?" asked Andrew, "there is no outlet there. This leads alone to the roof and to the oubliette. Beware, man, what you do! Your life is in my hands. Play me false and you lose it on the instant."
"The way is here," the other muttered, though loud enough for Andrew to hear him very well. "I know my own house."
"The way for all-not you alone?" and Andrew's voice sounded sinister and threatening to the other.
"Ay, for all."
Even as he spoke there came an increased din from below, and, though none spoke to the other, all knew, or imagined, what had happened.
The door was down-the besiegers in the house!
Soon-who could doubt it? – what else was there for those men of vengeance to do? – it would be in flames! Nothing could save it!
Or only one thing. The yielding up of De Bois-Vallée to their ire.
"Stop," he said, addressing him, "stop. You know what will, what must, happen next. It can be but one thing, the destruction of your house. Retrace your steps if you choose, defend the house singly if you desire-since I do believe that they come partly to rescue me, expect from me no help-give yourself up to them. Thereby the flames may be avoided. And-and-I grant you that respite."
For answer, the other snarled at him-Andrew could plainly see that he did so in the added light which now streamed up from the hall, illuminating all the balconies and corridors.
Then he spoke.
"It may be that they come to save you. Yet there can be few to whom you are known. Therefore, being here, they deem you my friend-or will when they see you."
"Your friend!" the tone contemptuous and full of loathing as Andrew answered him.
"Ay. If you doubt it-and since you are so bold and brave a man-show yourself to them and see."
For a moment, stung by the taunt of even such as he, Andrew was disposed to take him at his word. To descend towards those rioters, to thrust his head over the balcony. To call to them and say who he was and what he did in the house.
Another moment's reflection, and he decided against that resolve.
"Nay," he said, "nay. They may not know me-there are but one or two who have ever seen my face-a dozen bullets in my body would reward me for my pains and foolhardiness. Also, vagabond, you would be alone with the women. Even though I returned in safety it would be to find them dead at your hands-and you gone! Lead on, show us the way. We go together."
And, touching him none too gently, he urged him forward.
CHAPTER XXVIII
ESCAPE
Andrew shortened his sword at this time, for, since he could not doubt that De Bois-Vallée intended treachery, he meant to slay him at the first moment that treachery became apparent; meant to use the sword as a dagger and, striking down swiftly under the other's left shoulder, end him. That there should be no doubt of his intention, and because his action might not be perceptible in the obscurity around them, he whispered in De Bois-Vallée's ear a word to that effect. Took, too, his hand and placed it against his own where it grasped the blade low down, and ran that hand along it till it touched the point.
"He must know full well now," thought Andrew to himself, "what awaits him if he plays me false."
Then, as the other withdrew his own hand from the blade, they went on again.
By this time they were at the foot of the steps leading up to the garret; the garret where Andrew had lain a prisoner for so many days.
Behind him, encouraged now and again by a whispered word, and, in Marion Wyatt's case, by a gentle touch or so from his great hand, the women came-she next to him, Clemence behind.
As for the former, it seemed that the time had come when she could persevere no more. Her face was almost invisible, but her actions and her drooping attitude showed Andrew, as he peered through the darkness at her, that she could struggle little longer. Already she leant half-fainting, half in a stupor, on the woman, Clemence-it seemed that there was scarce any life or strength left in her.
"Courage, courage!" He whispered to the girl. "Courage. He must know some way out-there must be some secret doorway here leading to hidden stairs behind. Courage, I say. Lean on me. See, he mounts the stairs-once there he shows us the way, or dies."
But Marion could not answer now-her breath came in terrible gasps from her, she seemed choking, while at the same time almost incapable of further motion, although still she forced one foot after the other as, supported by Clemence, they stood at the bottom of the garret ladder. As for her, Clemence, she appeared to have superhuman strength; her arms around the tottering woman she helped her to mount those steps up which all went following De Bois-Vallée, whose almost indistinct figure crept forward in front of them. And now they stood within the garret itself, when Andrew, putting out his hand, laid it on the other man's shoulder.
"Go not so fast," he whispered in his ear. "The darkness is intense. We must not lose you. And," tightening his grasp on De Bois-Vallée's sleeve, "direct not your steps this way. The oubliette is here. Is it to that you lead us?"
From the man whom his hand clutched there came no word, only Andrew heard him catch his breath suddenly with a hoarse gasp; from the woman behind it seemed to him as though there came once more that low, gurgling laugh he had before remarked. Then he heard her whisper in his ear. "'Tis that-'tis that! Beware of-"
Her words were drowned by another roar from below-something fresh had occurred. What was it?
Their ears told them-sight was unnecessary, though that too aided them ere long.
They could hear the trampling of the men beneath, hear huge weighty things being thrown down in the hall, which fell with a sound resembling the fall of tons of lead, and they knew-Andrew and Clemence-perhaps, too, De Bois-Vallée-that they were trees being brought in and cast on the hall as fuel; they heard orders being given. Orders for powder-flasks and horns to be ignited beneath kindlings-another order that none should rush up the stairs to seek for the wolf.
"It is enough that he is here," a fierce, strident voice cried. "We know it. We will burn him in his hole as we burnt the bear last year. Pray God we see him rush out in flames as Bruin rushed."
And, even above the voice, pealed that of the boy singing:
"Lorraine, Lorraine, ma douce patrie."
From Marion there came at this added horror a shriek, long, wailing, piteous to hear, the shriek of one in mortal dread; Andrew's ears caught once again a hoarse whisper from Clemence, and the words, "this is death. So best!" In his grasp he felt the man whom he held shaking with terror, and then, suddenly, as he turned to speak another word of encouragement to Marion, he knew that De Bois-Vallée had escaped him Either in his terror, or in the quickly acquired knowledge that, as Andrew so turned, the grasp relaxed somewhat, he shook himself free.
He was gone! Escaped! There was nothing before Andrew but empty darkness! His sword told him that, as he plunged it furiously into the empty space in all directions, except where the women were.
"He has escaped," he whispered to Clemente. "Escaped, and left us here. Has reached the exit, and left us to die."
"Escaped?" she screamed. "Escaped? How? How? How?"
Yet in another moment it seemed as if her rage at this was swallowed up by some new idea.
"If he is gone," she said, "why let them destroy the house? And-surely if they know women are in it-they will spare us. She," and the woman cast her eyes upon the almost insensible form of Marion, "cannot descend to them. I will go myself."
"Nay, nay," said Andrew, "it will be useless. They will not believe. Will think 'tis but a ruse to save him and his house. 'Twill not avail."
Also he remembered, though he could not say so to her, that Jean and Laurent had hinted, even if they had not said so in as many words, that this woman was as unpopular in all the country round as the owner of Bois-le-Vaux himself, was regarded as an evil creature of his. What likelihood, therefore, that they would desist from glutting the passions now aroused in their breasts, or from their determination to destroy the house, should she show herself?
"I will come with you," he said a moment later, seeing that nothing could turn her from this newly arrived at determination. "There may be none who know me, and can thereby stay their comrades' hands, but, at least, one glance will show that I am not he. There is no resemblance betwixt us. We will go together."
"No! no! no!" she said, stopping in the descent she had already commenced on the stairs. "Man! are you mad? If there are none who know you they will deem, must deem, you his friend, accomplice. And," she went on, almost imperiously, "I bid you stay-for her sake," pointing to Marion as she spoke. "If a bullet find your heart or brain, what of her? She will be burnt to a cinder in this house."
It was true! He must not leave her; never leave her now. Death had threatened them, the end was very near-another hour and the mansion would be in flames; his place was by her side. Either in life or death! Henceforth, come what might-safety or destruction-they must find it together.
Even as he recognized that this was so, Clemence was gone, had descended the upper flight of stairs, was about to descend the lower. And as he, peering over once more, looked down, he knew the awful risk to which the woman had exposed herself.
Up from the hall floor, as they saw her above, came a shout of many voices. In an instant the crack of half a dozen muskets came, too, also shrieks and ribald cries.
"The witch, Clemence. The hell-cat. The beldam. His mother's rival. The curse of all her days. At her! At her! Tear her to pieces."
"Nay!" roared out that harsh, strident voice he had heard before. "Nay. Not so. And come you back," its owner cried to three others who had already begun to rush up the stairs, as though to seize on her. "Come back, I say. Nor fire on her more. There is a better way. He is here and she is with him. Let them burn together!"
The shots had missed her-every one! – though Andrew, watching, had seen her stagger back as they struck the stairs and the wall around her; now she turned and retraced her steps to where he stood.
"Are you wounded?" he gasped when she had rejoined him, noticing that her face was bloodless, white as that of a corpse-that the great pendulous lips-in years gone by, doubtless, so full and ruddy-shook and trembled.
"No," she said, "unharmed. Yet doomed. Doomed! Still, there is a chance. If I go back to them, fling my body from this landing to the stone floor below, they may cease."
"Are you also mad?" he asked hoarsely; "Are you mad? You think I shall permit that?"
"'Tis the only way to stop them."
"Bah!" Andrew exclaimed. "Nothing will stop them. You forget. They know he is here. Also they cannot know of any secret escape-even though there be one."
Her hands fell in despair by her side, her eyes rolled piteously, she recognized that it was as he had said. It was the wolf they sought first and chiefly-her next.
"We are lost!" she muttered. "Lost! Lost!"
It was impossible to doubt that such was the case.
Looking over once more, down into that great well beneath them, he saw that the floor was piled the height of a man's head with saplings and trees, both green and dry, and with kindlings formed from wrenched-down tapestry, broken chairs and stools and other things, chopped up small; even the great table itself was being hacked into firewood. All hope was gone!
Likewise, he saw three men standing close together, the palms of two of them placed side by side, so as to form a bowl, while the third emptied all their powder-horns into those hands; after which they placed the heap beneath the accumulated fuel. No need to doubt that the fire would blaze fiercely! Then one strode forward-the man with the great raucous voice-and said some words of gloating, while, as he did so, he bent his knees and stooped down, and peered into the mass collected together, and nodded approbation of the heap of powder beneath. Then rose and stood back some yards and drew a great pistol from his belt.
Drew it, gave one look to the priming and his flint-fired, and ignited the heap. And as the powder leapt up a mass of green and yellow flames, as the kindlings and the logs caught, even as the report rang through the house of the De Bois-Vallées, so, too, there rang cheer after cheer, howl after howl, as though hell itself had let loose all its fiends. Also they danced and capered round and round that pyre, Andrew seeing two men clasp hands and waists and execute a grim fantastic dance about the hall! They stirred, too, with pikes and halberds wrenched from off the walls, the logs; some even thrust the swords they carried into the flames to make the fire burn more fiercely. Then, all stood away from the great open doorway, from which the door had long since been torn, so that the breeze of morning-for the day was nigh at hand-might blow in and fan those flames. The great door itself as well was lifted up upon their shoulders, carried in, and flung upon them.
"To the leads! To the leads!" Clemence muttered. "To the leads. Better die there than here, as we must if we stay longer. See! See!" and she pointed down. "The lower stairs are on fire; already the way-that way-is cut off. We are trapped. To the leads."
"Ay," said Andrew, "to the leads. After that-death, unless some portions of the house stand firm. How is it with her?"
"She is insensible-not dead. Not yet."
"Not yet, I pray God. Give her to me. Come-if we can find the opening to the roof the air may revive her." Whereon, stooping down, he lifted the girl once more to his shoulder.
267
"Go carefully," he said to Clemence, "carefully-beware the oubliette. For God's sake, avoid that."
Thus they returned to the garret, groping their way in the dense blackness.
"Give me your hand," she answered, putting out her own and finding his. "I have been here in the dark before, and know where the exit is. Now come."
And, following her, with his burden clasped to his breast with one arm, he let her guide him slowly and step by step-each one made sure of ere another was taken-through the darkness and the ever-increasing atmosphere of suffocation, towards where stood the ladder leading to the roof.
And so, feeling their way inch by inch, Clemence first, with Andrew following, he bearing Marion in his arms, and having at the same time to keep touch with the former and also to carry his drawn sword-since he knew not if, even now, De Bois-Vallée might not be lurking somewhere close by in that dark garret, ready to thrust his own weapon through him, or, indeed, through all of them-they reached shortly the ladder that led to the roof. And, then, a few moments more and they had emerged on to the leads.
The rain, that had been falling at intervals (though sometimes it had been clear moonlight) since the wintry sun had set amidst a bank of deep blood-coloured clouds, backed up and surrounded by still deeper leaden ones, had ceased now-up from the south-west, as they gained the roof, there blew a soft, warm breeze that was as the breath of heaven to them after the reeking interior from which they had escaped. Yet-escaped for how long, Andrew and Clemence wondered inwardly? For how long? How long would it be ere that portion of the house on which they stood might be alight, and, thus destroyed, engulf them below? Below, where it was easy enough to see that already the house was in flames-and whence there reached their nostrils the fumes of smoke. Already, too, by gazing over the parapet Andrew could see the red tongues of fire shooting out from windows, and volumes of dun-coloured smoke emerging. Could hear, also, those windows bursting and the sound of rent glass as it fell on the stones of the courtyard.
Heard, too, and saw other things ere an hour had elapsed-an hour in which Clemence had sat on the ladder giving to the roof, with Marion lying in her arms. For, at the end of that hour, a terrible roar and rending sound reached his ears from beneath, and, looking once more over the parapet, he saw the left side of the house rent open; knew that a portion of one of the wings had fallen inwards. The north wing, and that the one which joined the part of the house above which they all were.