58. LVIII.
THE COMBAT.
Innis had not stirred from the spot.
What thoughts had passed through
the mind of the despairing young man,
as he waited in the freezing cold, with
Honoria's innocent kisses yet warm upon
his lips, and a bloody combat with her
husband imminent? Despair is a strange
stimulant, and Innis had little hope left
him in the world. Burnt up by harsh
and gloomy emotion—seeing nothing in
[ILLUSTRATION]
The Combat. p. 132.
[Description: 505EAF. Image of two men struggling in a snowy forest. One man has
dropped his sword, which is broken and slightly covered with snow, so he is
desperately trying to wrench the other man's sword out of his hand. They are
surrounded by winter trees, no leaves, and snowy ground.]
the future for him but hopeless misery—
he greeted almost with joy the coming
struggle, which would probably end his
life and his woes together. That such a
struggle was near he had no doubt whatever
— a single combat with swords,
doubtless; and as, like all young gentlemen
at that time, he had been taught
the use of the rapier, there would be no
obstacle.
Suddenly Ruthven's figure appeared
in the moonlight. He almost rushed toward
Innis, reached him, and exclaimed,
in a hollow tone:
“It is well, sir! You keep your word
at least! You will not add cowardice to
treachery!”
“Treachery, sir!” cried Innis —
“cowardice! Beware, sir! By Heaven,
if you insult me thus, I'll throw myself,
weaponless as I am, upon you, and
tear you to pieces!”
Ruthven threw back his cloak.
“Here are two swords!” he said,
“of equal length and good temper. You
are not weaponless, sir, since one is for
you!”
And he hurled it at Innis's feet in
the snow, his eyes burning with lurid
fire.
The young man stooped quickly, and
caught it by the hilt.
“Thanks!” he said; “this combat
need not be delayed, then.”
“No! here and now! Here, where—”
And, with an expression of deadly
menace, Lord Ruthven took a step,
sword in hand, toward his enemy.
“A moment, my lord!—there is time
enough!” said Innis, in a cold and
gloomy tone. “As one or both of us
will probably be dead in an hour from
this time, a few words are necessary.”
“I want none! Defend yourself!”
The sharp point glittered in front of
the young man's breast; but he remained
perfectly motionless.
“I say that these words are necessary,”
he replied, in the same gloomy
tone. “What you mean by treachery I
am unable to understand, sir! We were
mere acquaintances—I never professed
to be your bosom friend; and if there
be wrong done, who is guilty of that
wrong?”
“Enough—!”
“You shall hear me! and, as I may
be driven to rage, I'll speak first of what
is most important,” said Innis. “You
are so ignorant of the person who is now
Lady Ruthven, that you madly dream
that she could be guilty of an impure action!
That is the madness of jealousy,
and suspicion, sir—naught else! Honoria
is as pure as that snow; as the moon
above you! Her sole fault, if it be a
fault, has been her imprudence in granting
me, to-night, at my urgent request,
a few moments to say farewell, before
we parted forever. I am about to leave
Virginia—I loved her—you know that—
I besought her to see me for an instant
before I went; she was here for a little
space, thus, at my own solicitation; and
had you not come, the young lady and
myself would have parted—”
“With a last embrace! with kisses!—
with caresses!—with `love in life and
death!' Your sword, sir! This shall
end!”
“A single moment more, sir,” Innis
replied, with the same immovable coldness,
but a bitterness in his tone. “Your
lordship is the lucky one, and can afford
to listen an instant, if only to prevent
misunderstanding when our ghosts meet
in another world! Well, before she met
you, Lady Ruthven was engaged to be
married to me. You did not know that?
'Tis true, sir; and the circumstance was
not so astonishing. We were cousins,
had been playmates all our lives here at
Rivanna; and before she went to Williamsburg,
where she first saw you, plighted
her faith to me here under this very
oak-tree, where she came to bid me farewell
to-night. That is a bitter memory
to the poor, unhappy man who speaks to
you—must it not be, sir? Well, I soon
saw that Honoria was not to choose her
mate. You paid your addresses, and I
asked for her hand. Her father refused
me—I was very poor; and accepted
you.
Did the young lady? And, in spite of
all, I was going away, now—after these
few words of farewell.
“That is the history of three persons,
sir—one happy, the other two miserable.
As to this meeting, I repeat, sir,
that it was my fault, and meant nothing.
You speak of kisses—in Virginia, young
ladies kiss kinsmen. I was this one's—
she was innocent as an angel—do not
give the devil that triumph of believing
Honoria Brand other than purity itself!
And now I've done, my lord. If there
be fault in any one, the fault is mine.
Spend your wrath on me; for that wrath
I care nothing, as I care nothing for my
life. Just now, when you used the word
treachery, I wished to kill you. Now,
you may kill me, if you choose, sir—my
life is a matter of indifference to me, I
am too miserable; but I charge you, on
your honor as a gentleman, to absolve
my cousin!”
“Have you done, sir?”
The brief, stern words range out suddenly,
leaving no doubt of Ruthven's
intention. His resolve was unshaken.
Hatred, jealousy, blood-thirstiness — all
this was written in his eyes.
“Your lordship is bent on killing me,
then?” said Innis, as coldly as before.
Lord Ruthven's reply was to rush
upon his adversary, and to lunge straight
at his heart. Innis parried the blow;
and a brief combat followed—bitter, desperate,
breast to breast. Suddenly Innis's
sword snapped, and the foes grappled
and fell — Lord Ruthven beneath
his adversary. They were body to body,
face upon face, panting and bloody. Then
Innis uttered a low cry, his hold relaxed,
and he fell forward, a torrent of blood
gushing from his bosom.
Ruthven, who had retained his clutch
of his sword, had shortened it quickly,
and driven the point by main force into
his adversary's breast.
He rose, breathing heavily, and
looked at the body lying on the bloody
snow.
All movement had ceased.
“So much is done,” said the nobleman
in a low, hollow voice; “now let
me go back to my bonny bride!”
His lip, writhed as he spoke, and the
strange wild glitter of the eye was horrible.
On this face, resembling a mask of
Hate, was written a terrible resolution.
