knew nothing as yet of the fall of their great leader, but had been awakened by the noise of the far-off conflict, and had discovered his absence and the Umbrian's drunken sleep. But one chance remained—the single chance of reaching the entrance-hall before they searched there for him.
"Can you fire?" he whíspered, as he bore her onward and outward to where the feeble lamplight gleamed yellow and faint in the passages he had traversed.
In answer, her hand glided over the barrel of his weapon, and closed on the butt firmly.
"My life has hung on my own shot before now."
There was no tremor in her own tones as she replied to him; there was only the calm valour that thrilled him as a clarion thrills the soldier who hears its silvery melody command him to face death and to deal it.
"Promise me one thing?" she murmured.
There was light enough now, grey and dusky as it was, for him to see her eyes as they looked up to his, the gold gleam of her hair against his breast, the glisten of the steel blade against her bosom.
"All things."
