“You are wrong. There is not a man at Northrop who will not feel the blow—and there is Violet.”
Tony’s fingers seemed to quiver. “Still!” he said very slowly, “I think she will get over it.”
Appleby said nothing for a few moments, for there was something he could not understand in his comrade’s face Then he said softly, “How did it happen, Tony?”
Tony shook his head. “I can’t quite remember. I saw that cazador with the bayonet, and went for him with the butt,” he said. “The only thing I am sure about is that he got me instead.”
Appleby gasped as the vague memories of the struggle on the veranda grew clearer. “Tony, you thrust yourself in between him and me?”
Tony smiled a little. “Well,” he said slowly, “it seemed even chances that I could reach him with the butt, and I owed you a good deal, you see.”
Appleby clenched one hand, and turned his face away, and there was for a full minute silence in the dimly lighted room while he looked out through the square of open casement at the dusky blueness of the night. Then through the hum of voices in the street below there came a rhythmic tramp of feet and a thin jingle of steel, while as it grew louder the glare of waving torches shone into the room. Tony watched it flicker upon the wall.
“What is going on?” he said.
“They are carrying Morales to his burial,” said Appleby. “Maccario has sent a half-company of the Sin Verguenza.”
Tony smiled curiously. “That man has good taste. I liked him,” he said. “Well, there is one of the Sin Verguenza who will never march again. I wonder if you remember that two of our family once fought with the Legitimatists in Spain. Still, I think they would have looked down upon the Sin Verguenza.”