He shrugged his shoulders, burst into a laugh, and turned to
Mistress Percy.
"What can one do, lady, when one is doubly a prisoner, prisoner to
numbers and to beauty? E'en laugh at fate, and make the best of a
bad job. Here, sir! Some day it shall be the point!"
He drew his rapier from its sheath, and presented the hilt to me. I
took it with a bow, and handed it to Sparrow.
The King's ward had risen, and now leant against the bank of sand,
her long dark hair, half braided, drawn over either shoulder, her
face marble white between the waves of darkness.
"I do not know that I shall ever come back," I said, stopping before
her. "May I kiss your hand before I go?"
Her lips moved, but she did not speak. I knelt and kissed her
clasped hands. They were cold to my lips. "Where are you going?"
she whispered. "Into what danger are you going? I - I - take me
with you!"
I rose, with a laugh at my own folly that could have rested brow
and lips on those hands, and let the world wag. "Another time," I
said. "Rest in the sunshine now, and think that all is well. All will
be well, I trust."
A few minutes later saw me almost upon the party gathered about
the grave. The grave had received that which it was to hold until
the crack of doom, and was now being rapidly filled with sand.
The crew of deep-dyed villains worked or stood or sat in silence,
but all looked at the grave, and saw me not.
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