He took no notice of my words beyond a drunken grin, and then, because he was a cowardly ruffian who thought he could safely assault a young girl who was alone and defenceless while her father lay ill upstairs, he sprang towards me and seized me in his arms exclaiming: "Roses filled with snow! And I will have a kiss from them. I will, I say, I will. Thy charms madden me, Joice."
But now, while I struggled with him and beat his face with my clenched hands, I sent shriek upon shriek forth, and I screamed to my father and Mary to come and save me from the monster.
"Ssh-ssh!" he said, while still he endeavoured to kiss me. "Hush, you pretty fool, hush! You will arouse the house, and kisses cost nothing--ha, the devil!"
He broke off his speech and released me, for now he saw a sight that struck fear to his craven heart. Standing in the open doorway, his face as white as the long dressing robe he wore, was my father with his drawn hanger in his hand, and, behind him, Mary Mills and one or two negroes.
"God!" he exclaimed, "my daughter assaulted by my own bought servant. You villain! your life alone can atone for this." Then, with one step, his strength returning to him for a moment, he came within distance of the ruffian, and, reaching his sword on high, struck full at his head. Fortunately for the other, but unfortunately for future events, his feebleness made that sword shake in his hand so that it missed the wretch's head--though only by a hair's breadth--and, descending, struck off one of his ears so that it fell upon the polished floor of the saloon, while the weapon cut into his shoulder as it continued its course.
"This time I will make more sure," my father exclaimed, raising the sword again, but, ere he could renew the attack, with one bound accompanied by a hideous yell of pain, the villain Roderick St. Amande had leapt out on to the porch and fled down the steps--his track being marked by a line of blood. While my poor father, overcome by his exertions, and seeing that the wretch had escaped, fell back fainting into the arms of Mary Mills.
[CHAPTER XV]
A VISITOR FROM ENGLAND
Five years have passed away since then and now, when I again begin the recitation of the strange events of which my house was the centre, and I, who was then scarcely more than a child, have to record all that happened around me when I had developed into a woman.
By this period my dearly loved father had been long dead; had been, indeed, borne to his grave nearly four years ago, accompanied by all that ceremony with which a Virginian gentleman is always interred; and I ruled in his stead. Thus, you will comprehend, he had lived for some months after he had endeavoured to slay Mr. St. Amande for his assault upon me, and during those months we had received information about who and what he was, though there was still more to be learnt later on.