ravenously. Step by step Lord Rokesle drew back; there was no withstanding
this dumb fanatic, who did not know when he was wounded, who scarcely
parried attack.

"Even on earth you shall have a taste of hell," said Simon Orts. "There is
terror in your eyes, my worthy patron."

Lord Rokesle flung up his arms as the sword dug into his breast. "I am
afraid! I am afraid!" he wailed. Then he coughed, and seemed with his
straining hands to push a great weight from him as the blood frothed about
his lips and nostrils. "O Simon, I am afraid! Help me, Simon!"

Old custom spoke there. Followed silence, and presently the empty body
sprawled upon the floor. Vincent Floyer had done with it.


IV

Simon Orts knelt, abstractedly wiping Aluric Floyer's sword upon the corner
of a rug. It may be that he derived comfort from this manual employment
which necessitated attention without demanding that it concentrate his
mind; it may have enabled him to forget how solitary the place was, how
viciously his garments rustled when he moved: the fact is certain that he
cleaned the sword, over and over again.

Then a scraping of silks made him wince. Turning, he found Lady Allonby
half-erect upon the settle. She stared about her with a kind of Infantile
wonder; her glance swept, over Lord Rokesle's body, without to all
appearance finding it an object of remarkable interest. "Is he dead?"