Argosy All-Story Weekly, October 25, 1924 — page 131: what you’re looking at

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

CLOVELLY. The last words were said with a certain meaning which made the duke frown. ‘Do you intend me by that phrase, you rogue?” he said to Randal. ‘ Well, though I am far from my best practice, I shall not turn my .back on any blade in the world. “But to continue with Lascelle’s qual- ities: if he be not of the finest mettle, I fear for him at the hands of Clovelly. That pi- ratical scoundrel is a fighter of parts.” Randal waved the suggestion away. “I have the entire history of Lascelle,” he replied. ‘“ The truth is that he is the man who killed Darnac in Orleans two years ago.” “Is it possible?” “It is the very truth!” “Then he is matchless. I saw Darnac fight young Francois Grise, and at that time I considered Darnac peerless with the cold steel. But it was Lascelle who killed him? I thought it was a street brawl and that numbers did for poor Darnac!”’ ‘‘T have the whole story from the lips of one who saw the fight. It was in the street, to be sure, but it was fairly contested. Lascelle killed his man after he had him- self been run through the left arm.” “Good! Skill and a touch of the lion heart, also. That is what we need to mate Clovelly.” “T only wonder that your grace should have designs—” “ Against Clovelly?” ‘“May I be pardoned for wondering?” “ ‘You may. In short, by all the gossip that flies about the town, Clovelly has es- caped ten thousand dangers and is fast ap- proaching, bringing me the lady according to the contract. But I begin to regret that contract, Randal. ‘The lady is lovely, but the price is high. A ship fitted from bow to stern and manned with choice cutthroats —that is a great deal for one amour. If Clovelly has won her by the sword, it is only fair that he should lose her by the sword, is it not?” “ Assuredly.” “ But now to return to madame. Since she is a proud vixen, I must address her as a gentle and lovely saint. Begin again and tear up and burn what you have al- 121 ready written. If she is proud, I shall be humble.”’ He began to dictate: “Lady, since bitter darkness was poured down Upon me by your silence and your frown, My heart is lost in shadows manifold, My heart is lost and lonely and a-cold. Cruel and sweet, look forth on all that’s living : Those only are content who most are giving. “ There’s a line that is not bad, eh?” ‘An excellent line, sir. Worthy of John Dryden himself.” “A fig for John Dryden! He is a fash- ion, not a poet. But to continue: ‘Consider, God enriched us with His treas- ures Not to be hoarded but to spend in pleasures. Oh, lovely miser, what a wealth has lain Untouched in you, who only spend disdain! But if you scorn my person and estate, Yours is the touch of gold to make me great; For only the simple magic of a smile Shall so transform—” A knock sounded at the door. “Whoever it is,” said his grace, “ be it Rowley himself, send him about his busi- ness. The muse! The muse! I feel the muse upon me. Now every second is turn- ing to diamonds of beauty. Alas that they should be wasted upon the person of a fool! Go to the door, Randal.” Randal, accordingly, went to the door. But when he saw who stood without, he made no attempt to execute the order of his master, but instantly stood back, setting the door wide ajar. “Your grace,” he said, “ M. Lascelle is here!” A tall, big-boned man, whose sunken cheeks and deep-set eyes were given a yet fiercer appearance by the narrow trim of his beard and by his long, well trained mustache, stepped into the doorway, and, sweeping his cloak about him, made a pro- found bow to Ipswich. The latter forgot his poem in a trice. He started from his chair with a smile of pleas- ure. “You are Lascelle!” he said. You are Lascelle?”’ “I am_he, your grace,” said the hired swordsman, “ So? So? DOOLK CONMUC (E@)