Would he
yield or would he die? And they rushed forward, pressing the nearest
against him. And he, an old man, frail and feeble--yet once he was
as brave a man as any--cried, in his weak tones: 'Enough, friends, I
yield; I--' And they fell back. But my lord stood for an instant; then
he set his hand to his side, and swayed and tottered and fell, and the
blood ran from his side. And the Lord Constantine fell on his knees
beside him, crying: 'Who stabbed him?' And Vlacho smiled grimly, and
the others looked at one another. And I, who had run out from the
doorway whence I had seen it all, knelt by my lord and stanched the
blood. Then Vlacho said, fixing his eyes straight and keen on the Lord
Constantine, 'It was not I, my lord,' 'Nor I, by heaven!' cried the
Lord Constantine; and he rose to his feet, demanding: 'Who struck the
blow?' But none answered, and he went on: 'Nay, if it were in error,
if it were because he would not yield, speak! There shall be pardon,'
But Vlacho, hearing this, turned himself round and faced them all,
saying: 'Did he not sell us like oxen and like pigs?' and he broke
into the death chant, and they all raised the chant, none caring any
more who had struck the blow. And Lord Constantine--" The impetuous
flow of the old woman's story was frozen to sudden silence.
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