"Come!" he said, "we will go. You cannot be lying to me. We will go."
But before he could take a step there arose in the night without a babel of cries and screams and the clashing of steel. Above it all the same strange, barbaric chant which those devils leaping about the fire in the landing-place of the city had sung together.
"Too late!" cried the girl. "Oh, too late! They are here already!"
Zuan Gradenigo sprang silently for his sword, which he had laid aside in a far corner of the room, but as he did so the woman threw herself upon the half-open door of the hut and crashed it to, swinging the great bar into place.
"You shall not go!" she said, in a gasping whisper. "You shall not go out there to be slain!"
"Out of my way!" cried Zuan, sword in hand. "Out of my way, or by Heaven I'll run you through! Would you have me skulk here while my men are fighting? Get out of my way!" He ran at her and caught her by the arm, swinging her aside from the door, but the woman was back again, on hands and knees, before he could recover his balance. She caught him about the knees with her arms, and she was as strong as a young animal and as lithe. He could not move.
He raised the Venetian dagger which he held in his left hand. His eyes were on fire.
"Once more," said he, "will you stand out of my way and let me go?" Outside, in the night, the cries and clash of arms clamored on, and that barbaric chant, broken sometimes, sometimes swelling loud and triumphant, rang over all.
"You shall not go through this door!" gasped the woman, clinging fast to young Zuan's knees. "They are four to one out there. They would kill you the moment you stepped beyond the door."