A Castle in Spain Part 40

All eyes were fixed on the two who thus stood before the file of soldiers. At length there arose murmurs--strange murmurs indeed to come from such men, for they indicated pity and compa.s.sion.

Upon Lopez the effect of all this was overwhelming. He had seen it from the beginning. He saw the face of Talbot, the agony of Brooke.

At first there was only wonder in his looks, then came profound agitation. His sword dropped from his hand.

He turned away. Now, as he thus turned away, had he encountered fierce, cruel, blood-thirsty faces, he might have come back to his first resolve, and recovered from the emotion which was unmanning him; but the faces of his men were full of pity and of wonder. His fierce followers were themselves overcome, and thus the agitation of Lopez was heightened.

"I am a soldier," he cried; "I am not a bandit. I am not a cut-throat. It's all very well for us to kill our enemies in battle, but, my lads, to kill people in this way is butchery, and if they want butchers they'll have to get others. I must talk to these men again, especially to this priest."

With these words Captain Lopez dismissed his men and then turned to Brooke.

"Senor," said he, "I have some more questions to ask. I will therefore postpone proceedings until after further examination."

Talbot understood the actions of Lopez, and comprehended the meaning of his words.

There was an immense revulsion of feeling within her--from that preparation for death to this restoration to life; yet so perfect was her self-control that she lost not one whit of her caution, and vigilance, and outward calm. She did not trust herself to look at Brooke. She merely turned away and stood with her eyes fixed on the ground. Brooke stood watching her with a haggard stare. He did not look at Lopez; but as he caught his words he muttered something in reply which was unintelligible to Lopez, and quite incoherent in itself.

The prisoners were now conducted back again to their place of confinement. Here at last, removed from all strange eyes, the fort.i.tude of Talbot, so long sustained, gave way utterly. Under the pressure of so tremendous a reaction her womanly nature rea.s.serted itself. She fell prostrate upon the floor, and lay there, overwhelmed by a vehement pa.s.sion of tears. As for Brooke, he dared not trust himself to soothe her; he dared not even so much as look at her, but seated himself as far away as possible, and buried his face in his hands.

CHAPTER XXV.

IN WHICH BROOKE SINGS AND TALKS IN A LIGHT AND TRIFLING MANNER.

Brooke and Talbot had thus emerged from the Valley of the Shadow of Death, but that shadow still rested upon them. Their sudden deliverance had left them both alike overwhelmed; and as they stood apart, not speaking, not even looking at one another, there was a struggle in the mind of each which made it hard indeed for them to regain any kind of self-control. The vision of death which had been before them had disclosed to each the inmost soul of the other, and had led to revelations of feeling that might not have been made under any other circ.u.mstances. They had both alike expected death; they had said to one another their last and truest words; they had given expression to their most secret and sacred confidences; they had bidden their most solemn and most tender farewells; but the moment which had threatened to be the last of life, had pa.s.sed away leaving them still in the land of the living--leaving them together as before, bound by the new and imperishable tie of a common memory, for neither could forget all that had been said, and felt, and done by the other.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The 'Priest' Was Standing Directly In Front Of Brooke."]

After the events of the morning, Lopez had gone away with the greater part of his followers, leaving behind a guard of about half a dozen, as before. The noise of these movements had aroused the two prisoners, and they had gone to the window to look out, seeking rather to distract their thoughts than to satisfy anything like curiosity. From this window they had watched these proceedings in silence, standing close beside each other, with their eyes turned to the scene outside, but with thoughts wandering elsewhere. At length all had gone except the guard, and the last of the band had been swallowed up by the intervening hills. There was nothing more to be seen outside or to serve as a pretence for keeping their looks from following their thoughts.

Their eyes met. It was a deep and an eloquent look, full of unuttered meaning, which each turned upon the other; and each seemed to read in the eyes of the other all the secrets of the heart; and standing thus they looked into one another's hearts.

It was Brooke who spoke first.

"I wonder," said he, in a low, gentle voice--"I wonder, Talbot, if you had that look when you placed yourself in front of me and faced their levelled rifles. If so, Talbot, lad, I don't wonder that the soldiers paused; for they say that the calm eye of man can tame the wild beast or the fury of the maniac; and so your eyes tamed the madness of these fierce ruffians. Was your look then, Talbot, as calm and as firm as it is now?"

"It was fixed," said Talbot, in a gentle voice, "unalterably. But it was not their rifles that I saw; it seemed then as though I saw the other world."

A short silence followed, and then Brooke spoke again, in a voice which was very weak and tremulous.

"And you, Talbot, stood before their bullets, offering your life for mine!"

The accents of his voice seemed to quiver with suppressed pa.s.sion and infinite tenderness.

"It was only a fair exchange," said Talbot, slowly; and her voice thrilled, as she spoke, through the heart of Brooke as he went over to her to listen; "for you were giving up your own life for me."

There was silence now for some time, during which their eyes were fastened upon one another. At length Brooke drew a long breath and turned away. Then he began abruptly to sing one of his droll songs.

His voice was faint at first, but grew stronger as he went on:

"Billy Taylor was a gay young rover, Full of mirth and full of glee; And his mind he did discover To a maid of low degree.

Rite follalol-lol-lol-lol-lido, Rite follalol-lol-lol-lol-lay."

"You see," continued he, "my way is to sing while I can. There are too many times in life when you can't sing 'Billy Taylor.' Then you may retire to your corner, and wear sackcloth and ashes. Such a time is coming, Talbot, lad, when the strain of 'Billy Taylor' shall be heard no more. But so long as I can I'll sing:

"'But this maiden had a parient, Who was very stern to she.

"Fly, oh, fly, my dearest darter, From the wiles of your Billee!"

Rite follalol-lol-lol-lol-lido, Rite follalol-lol-lol-lol-lay.'"

During this little diversion of Brooke's Talbot said nothing. It was, as he said, his way, and Talbot had grown accustomed to it. A long silence followed, after which Brooke once more addressed her.

"Talbot," said he, "we have been acquainted only two or three days, and we have told one another all that is in our hearts. So it seems as if we had been friends for a long time. Yes, Talbot; if I were to count over all the friends of all my life, I could not find one like you--no, not one. And now, if we both escape and you go back to your people, how strange it will be never to meet again."

"Never to meet again!" repeated Talbot; and an expression as of sharp and sudden pain flashed over her face. "You do not mean to say that you will never come to me?"

"Come to you!" repeated Brooke, and he gave that short laugh of his.

"Oh yes--I'll come, of course, and I'll leave my card; and perhaps you'll be 'not at home,' or perhaps I'll be asked to call again, or perhaps--"

Talbot smiled, and Brooke, catching her eye, smiled also, and stopped abruptly.

Then followed another silence, which, however, unlike most of such periods, was not at all embarra.s.sing.

"Have you noticed," said Talbot, at length, "that they have left the same small guard which they left before?"

"Oh yes; but what of that?"

"Don't you think that now, after what has happened, they might be far less strict, and be open to a moderate bribe?"

"Bribe? And why?" asked Brooke.

"Why? why?" repeated Talbot, in surprise. "Why, to escape--to get our freedom."

"But suppose I don't want my freedom?" said Brooke.

"Not want it? What do you mean? Do you suppose that I may not be strong enough for the journey? Don't be afraid of that. I feel strong enough now for any effort. I'll fly with you--anywhere, Brooke."

"Fly?" said Brooke; "fly? What, and take you to your friends? And then what? Why, then--a long good-bye! Talbot, I'm too infernally selfish. I'll tell you a secret. Now that the worst is over--now that there doesn't seem to be any real danger--I'll confess that I enjoy this. I don't want it to end. I feel not only like singing, but like dancing. I want to be always living in a tower, or an old windmill, or anywhere--so long as I can look up and see you, I don't want anything more in the world. And when I look up and see Talbot no more--why, then I'll stop singing. For what will life be worth then, when all its sunlight, and bloom, and sweetness, and joy are over, and when they are all past and gone forever? Life! why, Talbot, lad, I never began to know what life could be till I saw you; and do you ask me now to put an end to our friendship?"

This was what Brooke said, and then he turned off into a song:

"Then this maiden wiped her eyelids With her pocket-handkerchee; Though I grow a yaller spinster I will stick to my Billee!