The Masqueraders · Chapter 23 (2/2)

His lesser height and strength did not seem to discompose the Unknown; he showed no signs of tiring; he was fighting still with the same force and cunning; he even seemed to be pressing his opponent. There was a parry, and, it seemed to Letty, two simultaneous lunges. Mr. Markham thought he had found an opening, but as he lunged the Unknown’s sword shot out in a time-thrust quicker than the eye could follow, took Markham’s foible in a flickering parry, and passed on without a check to the heart. It was all over in the flash of an eyelid; dimly Letty realized that she had seen a marvellous piece of swordplay. The Unknown sprang back, gasping for breath; Markham seemed to crumple where he stood, and fell heavily to the ground.

Letty’s eyes rested on him, full of horror and amazement. Only an instant back he seemed on the point of killing his opponent, and now there he lay, a dark heap on the ground.

The Unknown was on his knee beside him, shutting him from Letty’s view; she stood still, clinging now to the frame of the door. After a minute the Unknown rose, and came to the coach. He was no longer smiling, and Letty saw the sweat glistening on his brow. She held out her hands to be helped from the coach. He put up his, and she sprang lightly down.

“It’s over,” he said. “He was a villain, but he fought well.” He turned, and bent to pick up Markham’s coat. In a moment he had a paper in his hands, and bent his head to inspect it. He turned, and gave it to Letty. “Destroy that, Letitia. You know what it is.”

She hid it in the bosom of her gown. “Oh, thank you! thank you!” she whispered.

He held out his hand. “Remember that I am a highwayman!” he said. “Give me the pearls you wear. I will return them to you very soon now. Can you trust me?”

She unclasped the string. “Trust you! Oh, must you ask?”

He shook his head, smiling faintly, and held out his hand again. She put hers into it, and he bent to kiss it. “I shall come again,” he promised. “And next time you know what I shall demand.”

She nodded; her eyes were shining; she knew neither hesitation nor bashfulness. He would come to claim her; if he chose he might ride off with her over his saddle now.

He had pulled on his boots, and was struggling into his coat. In another few minutes he had leaped into the saddle again, and was bowing low over the horse’s withers. The fair hair was touched to silver by the moonlight; a jewel at his throat winked; and behind the mask Letty thought she saw his eyes gleaming blue. “Au revoir, ma belle!” he said, and straightened in the saddle. “Drive the lady back to town!” he said curtly to the coachman. There was a quick word in a strange tongue for the man with the pistol; the restless horse was wheeled about, the three-cornered hat was waved once to Letty. Then the horse bounded forward, across the heath; the pace quickened to a gallop, and in a few moments both riders had disappeared over the brow of a little hill.

Miss Letty rubbed her eyes; it was so like a dream, so unreal, that she began to doubt her senses. But the pearls were gone from her neck, and a few paces distant a dark figure lay on the ground⁠—a figure that had once been Gregory Markham.