"Please let them come and end it, then."
One priest, braver than the rest, crept up the stair with his eyes gloating over Solonika, his religious fanaticism having overpowered his judgment. Something of the spirit of the Mohammedan urged him to the attack with no weapon but his empty hands. He sprang toward the woman he hated; he almost clutched her. But I was watching. I brought the butt of my revolver down upon his tonsured head and, as he crumpled up under the heavy blow, I kicked him with all my force so that he fell back into the arms of his brethren, unconscious.
In the sight of all Bharbazonia I had raised my hand against the Church. There was no mistaking my intention now. I had announced my position and chosen my fate. Solonika realized it.
"They will kill you, Dale," she said.
"They will have to before they reach you," I replied.
The old fire came back to her. She lost her listlessness.
"We shall die together," she said, and I think the thought made her happier. "It is better so. Perhaps God will forgive me and permit us to meet in the other world."
She drew her sword, which I knew she could use with all the vigour of a well-trained swordsman, and faced her enemies, ready for the impending battle. If, by my action, I had convinced Solonika of my intention to die with her, I also made it clear to Nicholas. Perhaps it was the sight of two against such unequal odds that moved him—the heart of man demands fair play—perhaps it was his love for a fight; give him what motives you will, my reader, I know that it was his friendship for me and his desire to save me that was his moving passion. The fact remains that he acted almost before the priest's body fell.
Belabouring the Patriarch's followers at the foot of the stairs with the flat of his broadsword, he forced a passage for himself and stood in the clearing in front of me. I appreciated the generous spirit his foolish act showed. He had kept the faith and preserved my idols unbroken. Here was a friendship which even the love of woman could not kill. But, oh, but how useless was his sacrifice! One hour ago, had he listened to my plea, his service had not been in vain. One hour ago he might have led us through the gates. But, now, we were surrounded. The automobile was in the enemy's hands. The pleading voice of friendship had made itself heard—too late!
Nick's scarlet uniform of a Grand Duke had its effect upon the soldiers. They fell silent when he lifted his hand. But the priests, working themselves momentarily into a greater frenzy, continued their cries of "Kill! kill, the woman!" What was the power of a Grand Duke to them who were more powerful than the nobles?