The Sheriff stepped back, all unaware of the good office his sword had done for me. At a sign from him, two men, stronger than those who had been at the cross-bar, emerged from the crowd, and took their places to twist down on the big screw. They stripped off their upper garments, and I saw the play of their muscles beneath the skin, like little waves on a stream.
My eyes could not take in all of the scene, of which I was the centre, but I caught a glimpse of Sir George moving about. Once he looked full at me, twirling his moustache with one hand, while the other rested on his sword hilt. Seeing me watching him, he came a little nearer and called out softly in French:
“What think you now, Monsieur Captain? Wilt wed Lucille?” And his voice was mocking.
“Come, my lord,” I answered, banteringly, “accept her love from me. I know you have none for yourself.”
His face turned black, and there came a gleam into his eyes.
“Give her my truest love, I pray you; when you find her,” I added, as a sort of afterthought.
“Find her? What mean you?” he asked eagerly. “Know you whither she----?”
Then he stopped, biting his lips in confusion, for he feared he had betrayed himself. My heart gave a bound at that, for, though I knew naught of Lucille, my words having been spoken by chance, yet it seemed she had gone away.
If she had, it meant that she cared little for her wifely duties, and that Sir George had not succeeded in winning back her affection, if, indeed, he had ever had it.
But even that was like to avail me little now, unless I could escape.