Prisoners of Chance | Page 9

husband? Save him from what? Where is he?"
"A prisoner to the Spaniards; condemned to die to-morrow at sunrise."

"His name?"
"Chevalier Charles de Noyan."
"Where confined?"
"Upon the flag-ship in the river."
I turned away and stood with my back to them both. I could no longer
bear to gaze upon her agonized face uplifted in such eager pleading,
such confiding trust; that one sweet face I loved as nothing else on
earth.
Save her husband! For the moment it seemed as if a thousand emotions
swayed me. What might it not mean if this man should die? His living
could only add infinitely to my pain; his death might insure my
happiness--at least he alone, as far as I knew, stood in the way. "To die
to-morrow!" The very words sounded sweet in my ears, and it would be
such an easy thing for me to promise her, to appear to do my very
best--and fail. "To die to-morrow!" The perspiration gathered in drops
upon my forehead as I wavered an instant to the tempting thought.
Then I shook the foul temptation from me. Merciful God! could I
dream of being such a dastard? Why not attempt what she asked? After
all, what was left for me in life, except to give her happiness?
The sound of a faint sob reached me, and wheeling instantly I stood at
her side.
"Madame de Noyan," I said with forced calmness, surprising myself, "I
will redeem my pledge, and either save your husband, or meet my fate
at his side."
Before I could prevent her action she had flung herself at my feet, and
was kissing my hand.
"God bless you, Geoffrey Benteen! God bless you!" she sobbed
impulsively; and then from out the dense shadows of the farther wall,
solemnly as though he stood at altar service, the watchful Capuchin

said:
"Amen!"
CHAPTER II
A PERILOUS VENTURE
Any call to action, of either hazard or pleasure, steadies my nerves. To
realize necessity for doing renders me a new man, clear of brain, quick
of decision. Possibly this comes from that active life I have always led
in the open. Be the cause what it may, I was the first to recover speech.
"I hope to show myself worthy your trust, Madame," I said somewhat
stiffly, for it hurt to realize that this emotion arose from her husband's
peril. "At best I am only an adventurer, and rely upon those means with
which life upon the border renders me familiar. Such may prove useless
where I have soldiers of skill to deal with. However, we have need of
these minutes flying past so rapidly; they might be put to better use
than tears, or words of gratitude."
She looked upward at me with wet eyes.
"You are right; I am a child, it seems. Tell me your desire, and I will
endeavor to act the woman."
"First, I must comprehend more clearly the nature of the work before
me. The Chevalier de Noyan is already under sentence of death; the
hour of execution to-morrow at sunrise?"
She bent her head in quiet acquiescence, her anxious eyes never leaving
my face.
"It is now already approaching noon, leaving us barely eighteen hours
in which to effect his rescue. Faith! 't is short space for action."
I glanced uneasily aside at the silently observant priest, now standing, a
slender gray figure, close beside the door. He was not of an Order I

greatly loved.
"You need have no fear," she exclaimed, hastily interpreting my
thought. "Father Petreni can be fully trusted. He is more than my
religious confessor; he has been my friend from childhood."
"Yes, Monsieur," he interposed sadly, yet with a grave smile lighting
his thin white face. "I shall be able to accomplish little in your aid, for
my trade is not that of arms, yet, within my physical limitations, I am
freely at your service."
"That is well," I responded heartily, words and tone yielding me fresh
confidence in the man. "This is likely to prove a night when comrades
will need to know each other. Now a few questions, after which I will
look over the ground before attempting to outline any plan of action.
You say, Madame, that your--Chevalier de Noyan is a prisoner on the
fleet in the river. Upon which ship is he confined?"
"The 'Santa Maria.'"
"The 'Santa Maria'?--if memory serve, the largest of them all?"
"Yes! the flag-ship."
"She lies, as I remember, for I stood on the levee two hours ago
watching the strange spectacle, close in toward the shore, beside the old
sugar warehouse of Bomanceaux et fils."
"You are correct," returned the Capuchin soberly, the lady hesitating.
"The ship swingeth by her cable scarce thirty feet from the bank."
"That, at least, has