Like the tolling of an
infinitely melancholy bell, all this went through his breast and
brain, and, blending with a furious current of whatever passions
were deadly dangerous in his nature, swept as a storm bearing its
awful force into his sword-arm.
The Englishman was a lion, the priest a gladiator. The stars aloft
in the vague, dark, yet splendid, amphitheater were the audience.
It was a question. Would the thumbs go down or up? Life and death
held the chances even; but it was at the will of Heaven, not of
the stars. "Hoc habet" must follow the stroke ordered from beyond
the astral clusters and the dusky blue.
Hamilton pressed, nay rushed, the fight with a weight and at a
pace which could not last. But Father Beret withstood him so
firmly that he made no farther headway; he even lost some ground a
moment later.
"You damned Jesuit hypocrite!" he snarled; "you lowest of a vile
brotherhood of liars!"
Then he rushed again, making a magnificent show of strength,
quickness and accuracy. The sparks hissed and crackled from the
rasping and ringing blades.
Father Beret was, in truth, a Jesuit, and as such a zealot; but he
was not a liar or a hypocrite. Being human, he resented an insult.
The saintly spirit in him was strong, yet not strong enough to
breast the indignation which now dashed against it.
Pages:
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361