Chapter XXIII
The Rendezvous at the Forge
Beside the forge-fire stood Grûl. On his left arm was perched Philip, half wrapped in the black-and-yellow cloak, and playing with Grûl's white wand. At the back of the forge, fettered to the wall, and with his hands bound behind him, stood the black form of our adversary. Grûl was heaving upon the bellows, and in the fierce white glow of the coal stuck a number of irons heating. These he turned and twisted with fantastic energy, now and then drawing one forth and brandishing it with a kind of mad glee, so as best to show the intensity of its colour; and whenever he did so little Philip shouted with delight.
The joy that surged through my breast as I took in all this astonishing turn of affairs, was something which I have no words to tell of.
"Mary, Mother of Heaven, be praised for this!" I cried fervently.
"What will he do with irons?" queried Big Etienne, with a curiously startled note in his voice.
Indeed, what now followed was sufficiently startling. Grûl had caught sight of us. Immediately he set the child down, heaved twice or thrice mightily upon the bellows, and then drew from the fire two white-hot rods of iron. With these, one in each hand, he approached the Black Abbé, treading swiftly and sinuously like a panther. I darted forward, chilled with sudden horror. A short scream of mortal fear came from the wretched captive's lips.
"Stop! stop!" I shouted, as those terrible brands went circling hither and thither about the cringing form. The next instant, and ere I could reach the scene to interfere, the Abbé gave a huge bound, reached the door, and plunged out into the snow, pursued by a peal of wild laughter from Grûl's lips. This most whimsical of madmen had befooled his captive, in much the same fashion as once before on the cliff beside the des Saumons. He had used the deadly iron merely to free him from his bonds, and again held in reserve his full vengeance.
Fetching a huge breath of relief, I joined in Grûl's mocking laughter; while Big Etienne gave a grunt of manifest dissatisfaction. As for the Black Abbé, though the sweat of his terror stood in beads upon his forehead, he recovered his composure marvellously. Having run some dozen paces he stopped, turned, and gazed steadily upon Grûl for perhaps the space of a full minute. Then, sweeping a scornful glance across the child, the Indian, and myself, he half opened his lips to speak. But if he judged himself not then best ready to speak with dignity,—let no one marvel at that. He changed his purpose, folded his arms across his breast, and strode off slowly and in silence along the track toward Grand Pré.