Richard again flung out his battle-cry; but none stood against him. He stared about the room, saw the dead form in the corner, a negro dying beside him, a second prone by the head of the staircase, the rest all fled,—all save one.
Richard felt his knees smiting together, and a darkening mist veiling his eyes. He tried to speak; there came no word. Trenchefer fell clanging to the floor. Something was touching him, pressing him. Into the ringing in his ears stole one name, his own; out of the mist before his eyes floated one face. Then God gave back sight and speech.
"Mine for life and for death!" came from his lips.
"What is death if once you kiss me!" flew the answer.
But neither said more, nor thought more. What soul may have thoughts in such an instant! Only Richard knew that never in his whole life had Heaven granted him joy like this.
Mary was laying her warm, smooth hands upon his shoulders. Her lips were close to his own. She was speaking.
"Richard, the peril is very great. You should have fled the moment Morgiana saved you. For my sake you all have committed great sin!"
"And would you not thus have sinned for me?" replied the Norman. Mary did not reply. Her own heart told that Richard spoke well. Then she said softly:—
"Sweet husband, I will not be frightened. I can fear nothing now. Only you must not let Iftikhar possess me again. Holy Mother of God! you must not let him regain me!" And Richard, who knew what she meant (for when did he not read all in her eyes?), answered, holding out Trenchefer:—
"Iftikhar shall not regain you. By the wounds of Christ I swear it. Ah, how Our Lord will welcome a sweet angel like you when you fly up to the gate of heaven!"