The fugitive turned. That man had fed at his table; partaken of his wealth and his kindness; he belonged to the Tory army, and a word from him was safety. He was almost sinking, but these words of sweet charity brought him to life again; and swimming back to the shore, he held up his trembling hand to be dragged from the water. Windecker, for that was the demon’s name, grasped the hand, whirled his tomahawk aloof, and buried it in that noble forehead, uplifted in gratitude towards him!
Catharine Montour uttered a shriek of horror; the fiend turned his face towards her with a sickening laugh, and, lifting the body of his benefactor half from the water, dashed him back, reddening the waves with his blood, and shouting:
“That’s the way to serve traitors!”
All this happened so suddenly that the horror was perpetrated and the assassin had fled while Murray and Catharine were stunned by the shock.
When the atrocity came upon her in its force, Catharine sat down on the earth, sick and trembling, while Murray drew his sword, to cut the murderer down; but he plunged into the bushes and rushed off towards the fort, which was now one vast cloud of lurid smoke.
Murray returned to the bank just as Tahmeroo shot across the river in Mary Derwent’s little craft, which she found in the cove.
“It was bravely thought of!” exclaimed Murray, stepping into the boat and drawing Catharine after him; “they must search for other boats, and this will give us time. Hah! they have completed their work at the fort. See!”
As he spoke, a volume of dusky light surged heavily across the river, and a spire of flame shot upwards, quivering and flashing, and flinging off smoke and embers, till the forest trees and the still waters gleamed red and dusky for miles about the burning fort. The poetry of Catharine Montour’s nature was aroused by the fierce solemnity of this scene.
“See!” she cried, starting to her feet in the canoe, and pointing down the river, where the fire reflected itself like a vast banner of scarlet, torn, and mangled, and weltering in the waters. “See! the very river seems aflame—the woods and the mountains, all are kindling with light. Can a day of judgment be more terrible than that?”
She stood upright as she spoke, with one hand pointing down the stream. Her crimson robe floated out on the wind, and the jewelled serpent about her brow gleamed like a living thing in the red light which lay full upon her. As she stood there, the very priestess of the scene, her extended arm was grasped until the gemmed bracelet sunk into the flesh, and a face, pale and convulsed, was bent to hers.