University of Virginia Library

XLIII.
NEMESIS.

Arden had scarcely uttered these words, full of
vehement passion and scorn, when a shot resounded
from the direction of the river.

At that ominous sound every head turned; every
ear listened.

Suddenly a shout was heard; a man came over
the crest at full gallop, and, darting into the midst
of the cavalry men, cried: —

“Look out! the enemy are upon you!”

Ratcliffe's expression at that instant defied description.
Never have I seen rage, hatred, and disappointment
more vividly depicted upon the human countenance.
In his eye was the savage glare of the
wolf, forced to relinquish the prey which he holds between
his teeth, and driven to bay by the huntsman.

By an instinctive movement, he made two steps
toward his horse. Then his eye fell upon Landon,
and he returned toward the grave with a bound,
shouting: —

“The rope!”

But the man whom he had ordered to bring it

had hastened to mount his horse, and Ratcliffe saw
that it was too late.

Beyond the crest already resounded the trampling
of hoofs, the shouts of men evidently coming on at
full gallop, and the crack of carbines as the assailants
drove all before them.

“To horse!” shouted Ratcliffe. Then he turned
to Landon.

“You are going to be rescued, you think,” he
cried, hoarsely. “You are wrong.”

And, drawing his pistol, he aimed at Landon, and
drew the trigger.

The weapon snapped, and Ratcliffe uttered a loud
curse. Then, before he could again cock the weapon,
I witnessed a spectacle which made the blood leap
fiercely in my veins.

Landon, whose hands were still confined by the
red sash behind him, cleared the grave at one bound,
threw himself upon Ratcliffe, and caught him by the
throat with his teeth.

The assault was so sudden that Ratcliffe could
not defend himself. The teeth of the Partisan were
buried in the flesh, to which they clung with the tenacity
of a bloodhound.

Half strangled, with the blood spouting, with
Landon's weight on his breast, Ratcliffe staggered,
uttered a low cry, and fell at full length on the
ground beneath his adversary.

Then a ferocious struggle took place between the
two mortal enemies, who, losing sight apparently of
all else, concentrated all their energies upon the
conflict in which they were personally engaged.

Ratcliffe vainly attempted to tear Landon from
his throat. The furious teeth still clung to the
mangled and bleeding flesh; a foam of blood encircled
the lips of the Partisan as he bit deeper and
deeper; and from Ratcliffe's lips escaped a hoarse and
inarticulate cry, which had in it scarcely anything
that was human.

It was lost in a great uproar, which suddenly filled
the air. Over the crest of the hill, from the direction
of the Shenandoah, a band of Partisans appeared,
— coming on at full gallop, and firing volleys at the
Federal cavalrymen, who mounted their horses in
hot haste. In an instant the grassy slope became
the scene of a furious combat, — a chaos of smoke,
dust, and blood, above which rose yells, clashing
sabres, and the quick trample of hoofs.

At the head of the assailants, with drawn sabre
and glowing cheeks, rode Blount. Beside him
was Antoinette Duvarny, who, escaping, as I afterwards
heard, from her guard at “Bizarre,” had arrived
at the Chapel just as Landon's men were
dispersed, hastened to find Captain Blount, who
she heard was near the river, and now rode at his
side in the charge upon her former comrades. Of

that strange meeting with him whose heart she had
broken, I never heard any details.

The wild clash of arms for a moment diverted my
attention from Landon and Ratcliffe. The furious
struggle of the enemies now absorbed me, and I lost
sight of all else.

Stretched at full length beneath his adversary,
Ratcliffe vainly attempted to shake off the mortal
incubus.

“Help!” I heard him mutter, as Landon's teeth
dug deeper into his streaming throat. But his cry
was unheard; in the wild melée he was not seen, or
his fate was uncared for.

I saw on the dark face the sickly hue of despair.
The lips were convulsed, the eyes protruded; the
countenance of the Federal captain resembled a hideous
mask rather than the face of a human being.

His hands clutched madly at the grass, which he
tore up by handfuls. Writhing to and fro, dragging
each other like wild animals, the bitter foes approached,
foot by foot, the brink of the newly-dug
grave, into which it seemed probable that they would
fall, still locked in that deadly embrace.

All at once Ratcliffe uttered a cry of fierce satisfaction.
His hand had fallen upon the pistol which
he had dropped when Landon sprung upon him,
and I saw him cock it and place the muzzle upon his
adversary's breast.

I rose and staggered toward them. Then the
blood rushed over my face, and I fell forward.

A report followed.

I opened my eyes, looked toward the adversaries,
and saw Landon fall back, pale and covered with
blood.

Ratcliffe had risen to his feet.

I shall never forget the agony of that moment, or
the appearance of Ratcliffe. As pale as a corpse,
his breast shaking, his throat bleeding, he glanced at
Landon with an expression of diabolical triumph.

Then he threw a glance around him. That glance
revealed everything. His men were breaking in the
wildest disorder, and the Partisans were pursuing
their flying adversaries in every direction, firing upon
them, or cutting them down with the sabre.

Ratcliffe saw that all was lost; that his situation
was desperate, his capture imminent; and he staggered
toward a riderless horse, passing at the moment,
the bridle of which he caught.

His foot was in the stirrup when a loud exclamation
escaped from his lips.

Coming to meet him, and, staggering like himself,
I saw Captain Blount. His face was white, and
his breast bleeding. In his right hand he held a
cocked pistol.

“We have met at last!” he said, faintly.

“Blount!” Ratcliffe cried, hoarsely.

“Yes, sir,” said the captain of Partisans, in a
low but deliberate voice; “the gentleman whom your
baseness ruined.”

“I surrender!”

“It is too late, sir.”

Ratcliffe recoiled before the pale and threatening
face. Exerting all his remaining strength, he threw
himself into the saddle, and dug the spur into the
side of his animal.

Blount did not rush upon him as I expected.
A strange smile came to his white face, and he remained
as motionless as a statue.

“I am — dying —” he murmured; “but —
we will — go — together.”

And, raising his pistol, he took deliberate aim, and
fired. As the smoke drifted, I saw that Blount
had concentrated for this last act his whole remaining
strength; the pistol dropped from his grasp, and
he fell forward, dead.

Ratcliffe had uttered a wild cry, and I saw his
hand go to his breast, from which the blood spouted.
He was still able, however, to retain his seat in the
saddle, and the speed of his horse was such that he
would probably have escaped, had it not been for an
incident which resembled fatality.

As long as the flying animal continued his straight
course, the Federal officer was evidently strong
enough to retain his seat in the saddle.

Suddenly, however, a bleeding body interposed
itself directly in his path. The horse snorted, and
shied; and the movement decided the fate of Ratcliffe.

He was thrown, and his head struck violently
against a ledge of rock. He rose, his face covered
with blood, his hands clutching at the air; then falling
to the earth, he writhed for a moment, and expired.

As he uttered his last groan the bleeding body
which had made his horse shy, writhed, half-erect.
I recognized Antoinette Duvarny and saw a strange
smile upon her features. A moment afterwards her
head drooped, and she was dead.

All this had passed in a few seconds. The death
of Blount, and the singular end of Ratcliffe,
through the instrumentality of the woman so deeply
wronged by him, had riveted my whole attention,
but now, all at once, the fate of Landon became my
absorbing thought.

In this whirlpool of death was he also to disappear?
Was his wound a mortal one? I rose and staggered
toward him.

As I did so, I felt my head grow dizzy, and something
in my throat seemed to choke me. Reeling to
him, I caught his body in my arms, murmured
“Landon!” — I could say no more, — and fell, lifeless
almost, beside him.

My voice seemed to recall him from the very

gates of death. His eyes opened faintly, and he
looked at me with that vacant expression which
sends a pang through the heart.

“Landon!” I repeated.

But he did not seem to hear me. His pale cheeks
had suddenly flushed, his dull eyes had grown brilliant;
with a face glowing all over with an expression
of heroic tenderness, he stretched his arms
faintly toward some one behind me.

“Oh, no!” he murmured, smiling; “I am not
going to die now.”

A low sob replied to him; a light and hurried step
approached; a moment afterwards Landon's form was
encircled by the arm of Ellen Adair, and his head
had fallen upon her bosom.