He fell back upon the bank, the same calm smile upon his face. He made no sign or motion; bending forward, I saw that he had died without a struggle.
With the help of Winona I dug a trench and buried the Count. So we left him to keep his last long watch; the snows of winter lie thick upon his grave, the sun and rain of summer beat upon it, but he heeds them not. He was a man with all his faults, and deep above his grave I carved upon a hemlock the simple words "Requiescat in pace."
It was night when the Indian maid and myself resumed our journey. Winona had buried Marsden near DeNortier, and by the light of the moon we made our way down the rocky path and towards the cabins. No sound broke the gloom of the forest, as we strode rapidly on. I had lost precious time with DeNortier; during which perhaps the fox Dunraven had taken the alarm, and fled still further into the vast country beyond the dim mountains of which Manteo had told me.
And now, as we silently turned a bend in the path, the glare of a fire met my eyes, only a few feet ahead, and to the left of where I stood. Cautiously drawing my sword, with Winona, bow in hand, at my heels, I stole forward, until I stood underneath the trees in the shadow. Then quietly I looked out upon those who sat about the fire.
In front and facing me, sat Lord Dunraven upon a huge log, his sheathed sword between his knees. To his right, and several feet away, was another figure, a woman in a white dress. The light from the fire shone upon her white neck and rounded arms, and a gold chain about her throat glistened and sparkled as the glow from the blazing embers fell upon it. One little foot peeped out from the hem of her skirt, and her burnished hair shone in the dim light, as though each strand were gold, mined from the far-off land of the Indies.
A fagot from the dying fire blazed up, and the light fell full upon her face, which was in the shadow. Even before the firelight told me, I knew the maid was Margaret. Paler than it was her wont to be, but radiant with the same marvelous beauty. The last few months had defaced not one trace of loveliness, and even as I gazed upon her from my hiding-place, the same faint perfume floated across to me that I had ever noticed when in her presence.
"And so DeNortier, a plague upon him, has gone out upon a longer journey than it has been his wont to take," Dunraven said, a sneer upon his face. "He will find it, I fear, a rough voyage, and will meet on his arrival a warm greeting," and he looked up at the lady.
"I would have gone to where he lay, and read to him from the Holy Scriptures," she said in a clear voice. "Perhaps it would have soothed his last moments, but thou wouldst not let me do this."
"No," he answered, his sneer deepening into an evil smile. "Curse him! He has thwarted me long enough. Had it not been for him, thou wouldst have been Lady Dunraven long ere this. But the fruit only grows more tempting with the waiting," and he laughed long and loud.