But that toast was never to be drunk; for even as I raised the bottle, it was dashed from my lips, and two men hurled themselves upon me out of the darkness.
CHAPTER XX.
A DAGGER OF ANOTHER SORT.
For an instant I did not resist, so sudden and unlooked-for was the attack; then, as I felt a merciless hand gripping my throat, I struck savagely at a face I could dimly see just in front of my own. A burst of blood flooded down over it, changing it into a hideous mask; but again I felt those fingers of steel about my neck—fingers which tightened and tightened, tear at them as I might. In a mad frenzy of rage and agony, I struck again and again at the face before me, until my tongue swelled in my mouth and the heavens danced red before my eyes. This was the end, then! I was to be murdered here by these tavern vagabonds. That vengeance I had sworn was never to be accomplished; and Charlotte—Charlotte——
The pang which struck through me was not one of physical suffering alone; indeed, for an instant I ceased to feel those savage fingers. Ah, I could die—that were nothing! But to leave her! Had God abandoned us? Where was His justice? Where was His mercy? Again I tore at those fingers, desperately, madly. I felt the blood spurt from my nostrils, the heavens reeled before me, a black moon in a sky of living flame....
What magic was it drew that breath of air into my lungs?—life-giving air, which sent the heart bounding and the pulse leaping in answer! A second!—a third! I was dimly conscious of a knife gleaming in the air. I struck again. The face vanished from before me. But the fingers!—the fingers!—they were buried in my flesh!—they were crushing my life out! I raised a hand to my throat. The fingers were not there! And again the sky turned red, and a black moon hung low in it—a moon which grew and grew, until it swallowed the heavens and the earth....
I was lying upon a vast bed of seaweed, which rose and fell with the waves of the ocean. Oh, the peace of it! the bliss of it,—save that from time to time a single strand coiled about my throat like a living thing, and would have choked me had I not torn it off. The wish came to me that I might lie there forever, rocked in that mammoth cradle, lulled by the murmur of waters never ceasing. Then, afar off across the undulating plain, I saw a figure speeding toward me, and knew it was my love. At last she reached me, bent above me, looked into my face, flung herself upon me, calling my name and pressing warm kisses on my lips—kisses which I could not return, struggle as I might, for my lips seemed frozen into stone.
I tried to throw my arms about her, but some mighty weight held them at my side. I tried to call her name, but my voice died in my throat. Then I knew that I was dead, and a great sadness fell upon me. She would never know that I felt her kisses, that I heard her voice. She would never know how I loved her! The thought stung me to fury. She must know! she should know! For her I would burst the bonds of death itself! I fought against them desperately, desperately, every muscle strained to breaking....
I opened my eyes to see a face bending over me—the face of my dream. Very near she sat,—so near that I could feel the sweet warmth of her body,—and she was bathing my face and neck with the cool water from the brook. How good it felt—like the hand of God Himself! I saw that she had filled a bottle with it, and guessing the wish I had not strength to utter, she held it to my lips, and gave me a long draught.