Vytal had heard a rustle of leaves, yet the warning sound came all too late.
A short tongue of fire flashed beneath the branches, almost simultaneously a musket-shot rang out, and Eleanor fell prostrate on the sand.
A cry like the death-note of a soul rose from Vytal, and then the soldier’s face, in the first instant terribly anguished, was transformed to the face of wrath incarnate. His eyes were blue flames.
He rushed to the strip of woods, with sword quivering.
But Frazer lay dead, his face, lighted softly by the stars, showing no malevolence in its smile, more than ever boyish, guileless, and amused.
CHAPTER VI
“My heart is as an anvil unto sorrow,
Which beats upon it like the Cyclops’ hammers,