"Thee, Yolande! To bear thee to their lord's embraces--"
"Rather will I die!" she cried, and snatched the dagger from his girdle.
"Not so!" quoth he, wresting the weapon from her grasp. "Rather shalt thou
live a while--for thou art mine--mine to-night, Yolande--come!" And
he clasped her in fierce arms. "Nay, strive not lest I kiss thee to
submission, for thou art mine, though it be for one brief hour and death
the next!" So, as she struggled for the dagger, he kissed her on mouth and
eyes and hair until she lay all unresisting in his embrace; while ever and
anon above the thunder of blows the night clamoured with the fierce shout:
"Open--open! Yolande, ha, Yolande!"
"There is death--and worse!" she panted. "Loose me!"
"Stay," he laughed, "here thou 'rt in thy rightful place at last--upon my
heart, Yolande. Now whither shall I bear thee? Where lieth safety?"
"Loose me!" she commanded.
"Never! Hark, there yields the good door at last!"
"Then here will we die!"
"So be it, Yolande! A sweet death thus, heart to heart and lip to lip!"
"O Fool--I hate thee!"
"Howbeit, Yolande--I love thee!"
"Yolande! Ha--Yolande!"
The cry was louder now and so near that she shivered and, hiding her face,
spake below her breath:
"The turret-stair--behind the arras of my bed!"
Swiftly, lightly he bore her down the winding stair and by divers
passage-ways until, thrusting open a narrow door, he found himself within
the garden and, keeping ever amid the darkest shadows, hasted on to the
postern hard by the lily-pool.
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