With a cry as awful as the panther's scream the Italian
threw himself upon the beast and buried his poniard in its neck.
The panther and the man it had attacked went down together.
When the Indians had unlocked that dread embrace and had thrust
aside the dead brute, there emerged from the dimness of the inner
room Master Edward Sharpless, gray with fear, trembling in every
limb, to take the reins that had fallen from my lord's hands. The
King's minion lay in his blood, a ghastly spectacle; unconscious
now, but with life before him, - life through which to pass a
nightmare vision. The face out of which had looked that sullen,
proud, and wicked spirit had been one of great beauty; it had
brought him exceeding wealth and power beyond measure; the
King had loved to look upon it; and it had come to this. He lived,
and I was to die: better my death than his life. In every heart there
are dark depths, whence at times ugly things creep into the
daylight; but at least I could drive back that unmanly triumph, and
bid it never come again. I would have killed him, but I would not
have had him thus.
The Italian was upon his knees beside his master: even such a
creature could love. From his skeleton throat came a low,
prolonged, croaking sound, and his bony hands strove to wipe
away the blood. The Paspaheghs drew around us closer and closer,
and the werowance clutched me by the shoulder.
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