"'Oh, God of our fathers, save us! let us not fall into the hands of those ruffians, who—more to be feared than the wild beasts of the forest—would rob us of honor and of life!' cried Lucia, falling upon her knees again, and lifting hands and eyes to heaven.
"'Amen!' responded the trembling voice of Rozel. 'Lord, Thine hand is not shortened that it cannot save, neither Thine ear heavy that it cannot hear!'
"The scenes that followed what pen may portray! the wild anguish of some expressed in incoherent words, shrieks of terror, and cries for help, as they seemed to hear amid the roar of the elements the hurried footsteps of the assassins, and to see in the lightning's flash the glitter of their steel; the mute agony of others as in the calmness of despair they crouched helplessly together awaiting the coming blow.
* * * * *
"Meanwhile the fathers, husbands, sons, brothers were hastening homeward, their brave hearts torn with anguish at thought of the impossibility of arriving before the hour set for the murderers to begin their fiendish work.
"There was no regular order of march, but each rushed onward at his utmost speed, praying aloud to God for help to increase it, and calling frantically to his fellows to 'hasten, hasten to the rescue of all they held most dear.'
"Alas for their hopes! the shades of evening were already falling, and the storm presently came on in terrific violence, the darkness, the blinding momentary glare of the lightning, the crashing thunder peals, the driving, pouring rain and fierce wind greatly increasing the difficulties and perils of their advance. God Himself seemed to be against them.
"But urged on by fear and love for their helpless ones, and by parties of distracted women and children sent forward from La Tour—some of whom, in their terror and despair, asserted that the work of blood had already begun—they pressed onward without a moment's pause, springing from rock to rock, sliding down precipices, scaling giddy heights, leaping chasms which at another time they would not have dared to attempt, and tearing through the rushing, roaring mountain torrents already greatly swollen by the rain.
"They reached the last of these, and dashing through it, were presently in sight of La Tour, when the tolling of the vesper bell of the convent of the Récollets—the preconcerted signal for the assassins to sally forth—smote upon their ears.
"'Too late! too late!' cried Rudolph Goneto hoarsely.