Adventure Magazine Cover — page 158: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

152 So came despair, and into the peaceful harvest of my mind, thrust a torch. I could not sleep at all; I walked the courtyard until dawn; kept my quarters in the morning, trying to distract my mind by reading of a book; and sent Benedetto to make the round of the sentinels, in my stead. Perchance, I told myself, if I did avoid Anita, this impossible passion would sub- side, suddenly as it had arisen; I would bury myself in reading of the military art. But this was no covetousness of the eye; the book on strategy reminded me of her more than sight, without speech, might have done. "Twas that she would understand my success 1n war; or in peace, or in any- thing else; or, if I failed, my failure; and that her understanding would give to suc- cess a value which now it lacked; or remove all bitterness from failure. In a word, she was the key to the problem of life’s purpose, so baffling hitherto; a key which was to be withheld from me; the lack of which would leave me hopeless in condition. Benedetto returned and reported all well. ‘“‘Am I to take the evening rounds also, Captain?” Deliberately, his face was wooden; I longed to ask him if he had seen Anita, though I knew he had, and that he was wondering at my seclusion. I had intended that he should take the evening rounds, and indeed all the rounds until I was calmer; now an inner voice whispered temptingly that he must not be left to wonder; that appearances must be preserved; that the spirit of the men must be kept up by sight of their captain—God, or the blind Fate I have named before, knows what else. In the upshot, closing my book and yawn- ing, I said I would make the inspection. I made it; Anita joined me at the angle of the south wall, not asking why Bene- detto had been my substitute that day; and though I tried to talk of small things, we walked in silence. Of such kind, that when we came near to that window of her apart- ments which overlooked the wall, I was trembling violently. The maid was standing by the open pane; Anita called her to join us, bringing a cloak; and while the wench hastened, we talked again to my old sergeant-cannoneer, as we had done the first day. “What success with the tent?” asked Anita. The old fellow saluted. F. R. Buckley “We hit it at last, your Ladyship; but without result. My Lord the Count had the good fortune to be elsewhere. We have hit four shelters since, but he has still the pleasure of being alive.” “Try a triple charge,” says Anita, laugh- ing; and we continued our walk, the maid some half-dozen paces from our heels. Well did I know ’twas better so; yet how gladly could I have strangled the wretched woman! And when, suddenly, the countess turned and said she had forgot her purse, how did my heart bound, that she must needs leave us to seek it. It was a blue and a misty dusk; the sky was like Venitian velvet spangled with stars; and from the enemy’s camp there drifted on a soft night breeze the smell of wood smoke; with it, from our own ramparts, the keen death-smell of burned powder. In the courtyard below, there was clanking of armor and the rough rumble of soldiers’ laughter, as the relieved guard sought its quarters. “Return not without it!’ Anita called after the maid. And we were alone, on the battlement above the precipice; shielded by the gloom of falling night; with none nearer to us than the enemy sentry crouching by his fire at the foot of the rock. “Is it not time to send another messenger to my brother?” The sight of the sentinel had reminded her, as it had me, of our plight; to which I had given little thought that day. “TI fear there is no use in doing so; if he can not come, sure he will not.” Silence fell; I stared down at the sentry; Anita, her back to the wall upon whose top I leaned, was looking away toward the north tower; we were a sword’s length apart, yet I could feel invisible bonds as it were of living silk, springing from her and wrapping me about; I was trembling again, and my heart pounding. “It grows cold,” I said, straightening myself bruskly. ‘The maid is long gone.” Anita stood upright also; we faced each other, and our eyes met. “Aye,” said she, so softly that I could scarce hear it; and then the purse, for which the maid was searching, slipped from her sleeve, and lay between us on the flags. At this moment, I can feel the catch of the cold air in my throat, as I drew sud- den breath; my hands clenched and my COMmMiCcloooks C©