Nevertheless she felt, with a certainty that surprised her, that victory would at last reward the attackers and that the castle would be won. She seemed to feel that one who could play such a part as Edgar Wintour in the lists of Bordeaux was not born to be defeated here. But see!--the attackers were gathering for a last leap forward--Edgar had raised his battle cry--Hurrah! the defenders were fleeing headlong down the courtyard, and the castle was won----
Ere Beatrice could cry aloud in the joy of victory, a sudden fearful change swept over the scene. From the roof of the donjon, somewhere above her head, a burning hail of molten lead swept down, and the cries of victory were quenched and smothered in a louder burst of screams and wails. So dreadful were the anguished cries of many of the poor creatures, scorched and withered by the burning blast, that Beatrice, completely unnerved, cowered down upon the floor and wept.
Jeannette replaced her at the lattice and, with many ejaculations of disappointment, told of the charge of the armour-clad horsemen and the defeat and destruction of the broken remnants of the gallant peasants. Of Edgar and Peter she could see nothing. Knowing how loath they would be to flee, Beatrice felt, with a crushing sense of sorrow and disappointment, that even if they had escaped the showers of molten lead they must of a certainty have been overwhelmed and slain by the charging horsemen.
She was aroused from her prostration by another cry from Jeannette, who had turned from the window and was hearkening, not to the clangour outside, but to a noise that had attracted her attention within the donjon.
"It must be De Maupas," she cried excitedly. "I hear footsteps--doubtless it is De Maupas returning to press his suit now that the peasants are destroyed?"
Beatrice jumped quickly to her feet. Her prostration had vanished, and she faced the door with her eyes flashing and her little hands clenched. Jeannette could see that something had roused her beyond measure.
"Let not De Maupas approach me after slaying my poor friends!" she cried, stamping her foot with anger. "Refuse him admittance--tell him I abhor him and will not see him."
Jeannette fled to do her bidding. As she reached the door, however, it suddenly opened and a man strode hastily in, brushing aside the hand which the maid put out to detain him. It was Edgar Wintour.
At the sight of him Beatrice gave a gasp and looked as though she were about to fall. Edgar darted instantly to her side and took her gently by the arms. "Come, Beatrice," he cried, with breathless rapidity. "Our cause is lost, but if thou wilt trust thyself to me I will strive yet to save thee. The hope is indeed faint, but at the worst if I fail they can but compel me to surrender thee again."
[Illustration: "'COME, BEATRICE, I WILL STRIVE YET TO SAVE THEE.'"
(missing from book)