Lendert arose to his feet. His ruddy countenance was growing strangely white; his flaxen hair was dappled with blood and his shirt was stiffened by the same, but in his blue eyes there was the steady look of obstinate resolve.
“I think we may attempt to run now, mademoiselle,” said François. “He cannot follow very fast nor very long. I regret that I cannot spare time from my devoted attention to you to reload my pistols. I may need them.”
“You will not find yourself very light of foot with a dead weight to drag behind you,” vouchsafed Alaine.
“But if I lead the chase, Monsieur Le Cochon Hollandais cannot keep up the pace for very long; he bleeds freely, the stuck pig. See, I start.” He pushed the girl behind him, clasped her arms around his waist, and, holding her hands in front of him, set off on a run.
But Alaine, as she felt his left hand fumble for his pistols, let herself drop to her knees.
At this instant there came a singing, whirring sound; a slender leather rope whizzed through the air and fell about them, tightening around the man’s shoulders with a jerk. He was brought to a standstill; then as the thongs enclosed him more securely his arms were forced back by the strain, and the girl saw her opportunity. A short struggle and she was able to make her escape. She rushed breathlessly toward Lendert. “Monsieur Verplanck, I will help you,” she cried.
François bowed himself and fiercely tore at the slender deer-skin thongs, and at last, running backward, was able to slacken the cord and to wriggle himself out of its hold. A moment more and his pistol was ready in his hand. Alaine foresaw his intention, and before he could fire she sprang before her deliverer, who had sunk upon his knees and was leaning heavily against a tree, all his strength gone from this last effort. “Monsieur,” cried the girl, “it is an American custom, you say, to use a woman as a shield. Monsieur Verplanck has proved that it is false, and that it is but the makeshift of a coward. Yet, because you have shown me how powerful a shield a woman can be, I stand here.” She gave a quick glance at the fainting figure before which she stood; then she lifted her head high and faced François. “I defy you, monsieur,” she said.
He rushed at her blind with rage. “I will kill you before you shall escape me!” he cried.
“Kill me if you will. I have warned you that where I go you cannot follow. Do you think me so great a coward as to be afraid to die?” she asked, with a mocking look in her great eyes. “Death comes to all, and what matter when or where? Shall I be worse off in that other world because you choose to be the means of sending me there before God wills it so? Or shall you be better off here when I am gone, and after, when you go to face God’s judgment of you? Take my life? You cannot; it is God’s, who gave it, and it is for the life eternal. Kill me if you will; you lose all if you do and I gain everything.”
Twice he lifted his pistol; twice it dropped to his side. “I will wait till your friend is dead,” he said at last, in sinister tones. “’Twill not be long. I will wait, mademoiselle. It is sometimes better to endure patiently, say you Huguenots, therefore I follow your example. A dead man needs no shield, and, also, can tell no tales.”