With one hand grasping the cold fingers, the other pressed fearfully upon the metal figure thrilling in the priest's grasp, Roussilac took the oath that was required of him.
"And that I will keep it, I call God, our Lady, and the blessed saints to witness!" he concluded in a hushed voice.
Hardly had he spoken, and while he still watched his cousin lying white with the light fading from his eyes, the fortress from end to end became tumultuous. A gun roared, a din of shouting, the thud of flying feet, the shriek of women, the cry of his soldiery swept up the slope in wave upon wave of uproar.
"An attack!" he cried. "And I am from my post!"
"Peace!" said St Agapit, with a frown. "The God of battles is not here."
"Arnaud," came the hollow whisper out of the tumult, "I have more to say. My voice goes. I pray you bend your head."
"I came secretly," said Roussilac wildly. "I cannot stay. Father, duty is calling me. My reputation, my position——"
"Your family," said the priest, pointing sternly.
The night air became a storm with the shout: "The Iroquois! The Iroquois are upon us!"
"Cousin!" whispered the dying man.