“Ay, but there shall be another,” he cried, “demanding your sacrifice,” with which, before she had divined his intent, he grasped Virginia in his arms and carried her to the doorway. “She is almost as beautiful,” he sneered, “and much younger.”
“Stay!” and Eleanor, swaying as if she must fall, cried out again in anguish, “Stay, I implore you—stay!”
He turned, laughing. “Nay, Mistress Dare; first throw away thy poniard.”
With a strenuous effort to stand erect, she obeyed, and the weapon fell at her feet. Evidently satisfied, he now released his hold on Virginia, and, swaggering forward, with an air of bravado, put an arm about Eleanor’s waist, while the daughter, utterly dazed, stood speechless, watching him.
“My dear love,” he murmured, caressingly, “rebel not against fate. We shall be very happy as king and queen.” It seemed as if there were a tone of real tenderness in his voice, while gently he led her to the door. But her own voice was silent as the grave, and again her whole being seemed hopelessly inert.
Before passing out he bent over her, and, with both arms, crushed her to him in a tense embrace. Then he started back and his face went pale as death.
A loud clash of steel, a roar of many voices, a whirlwind seemingly, and Vytal stood facing them in the doorway.
Like a flash Frazer drew his rapier, but too late.
The soldier, infuriated beyond control, thrust deep and deep again.