Harding seized the arm of the murderess and easily wrested the dagger from her hand. Indeed, she made no resistance—the reaction of her excitement sapped away her strength; and, submitting without a word to all that Harding did, she seemed intent only upon the now fast stiffening corpse which lay before her.
“I am sorry for her,” she murmured; “I am sorry for her—but she would have it, and I cannot bring her to life.”
She burst into tears, and threw herself to the ground—uttering the most terrible imprecations of God’s vengeance upon herself, mingled with curses of the late Colonel Eltorena, and incoherent references to his perfidy. Harding was at a loss how to act—so strangely embarrassing was the wild scene in which he found himself.
The question was soon decided for him. He heard the approach of several armed men, walking with quick steps along the path, and, the next moment, Count De Marsiac suddenly entered the little area.
“Villain!” he exclaimed, striding toward Harding; “you have deceived me, and shall die the death!”
“Back, sir!” shouted the lieutenant fiercely, presenting the point of his sword. “If there is a greater villain than yourself here, the devil must be present in person!”
The count recoiled from the blade, and furiously ordered his men to fire upon the audacious American; but two of them, who had been busied with Grant, now sprang upon him from behind, and, after a sharp struggle, overpowered and bound him.
“I will dispose of you after awhile,” said De Marsiac, when he saw him hors du combat. “Leave him where he is,” he added to his men; and proceeding to give his orders with clearness and rapidity, the scene was soon broken up. Grant was restored to consciousness and again made a prisoner; the body of the señora was removed by the women summoned for the purpose, the murderess was taken into custody, and the whole party repaired to the house. Of this, De Marsiac at once took possession as if he were already its master; Margarita was confined to her own chamber, and Harding was thrust into a small, dingy room, and left alone, with those unpleasant companions, his own thoughts.
| [1] | The following extract from the letter of the author of the Captive Rivals, will account for the delay in finishing this story in the December number.—Ed. Graham. Jacksonville, Ill. Dec. 12th, 1861. G. R. Graham, Esq., Dear Sir,—I send you, inclosed, the final number of the ‘Captive Rivals’—which has been by sickness, and other unavoidable causes, unreasonably delayed. |