There was a low, grasping cry - a sudden
clasping of both hands over her heart, a sway, a reel, and she
fell headlong prostrate on the loathsome floor.
Sir Norman stood paralyzed. She half raised herself on her
elbow, drew the dagger from the wound, and a great jet of blood
shot up and crimsoned her hands. She did not faint - there
seemed to be a deathless energy within her that chained life
strongly in its place - she only pressed both hands hard over the
wound, and looked mournfully and reproachfully up in his face.
Those beautiful, sad, solemn dyes, void of everything savage and
fierce, were truly Leoline's eyes now.
Through all his first shock of horror, another thing dawned on
his mind; he had looked on this scene before. It was the second
view in La Masque's caldron, and but one remained to be verified
The next instant, he was down on his knees in a paroxysm of grief
and despair.
"What have I done? what have I done?" was his cry.
"Listen!" she said, faintly raising one finger. "Do you hear
that?"
Distant steps were echoing along the passage. Yes; he heard
them, and knew what they were.
"They are coming to lead you to death!" she said, with some of
her old fire; "but I will baffle them yet.
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