For the Love of Lady Margaret: A Romance of the Lost ColonyWilson, William Thomas
General
For the Love of Lady Margaret: A Romance of the Lost Colony
Wilson, William Thomas
Roanoke Colony -- Fiction
"And another thing, how camest thou into the room? Show me but that,
and thou shalt go unharmed." And catching him by the collar, I dragged
him across the floor to the corner where I had seen him first.
With a growl he raised his hand, and touched the wall with his finger.
Immediately a panel slipped back and disclosed an opening in the solid
wood.
I turned to him. "Go!" I said, pointing to the door, "before I forget
myself and run thee through. No--not through the panel, but out yonder
door."
He waddled back across the room, and turning the key in the lock,
opened the door. Stopping on the threshold, he looked back at me as I
stood by the open panel. A smile was upon his fat countenance--a smile
of triumph.
"Be not so sure that thou wilt explore yon passage to-night, my Lord,"
he cried in glee. "The battle thou knowest is not ever to the strong;"
and as he said this the secret door in the wall slid to with a snap,
and with a loud laugh, even as I sprang towards him, he slammed the
door of the room and the bolt turned in the lock. He had touched some
secret spring outside, that closed the aperture in the wall.
Long I stood there on the floor listening, but I heard no sound. The
house was as though all were wrapped in slumber.
Crossing to the window, I looked out; along the sand outside there was
passing the figure of a man. I did not have to look twice to know who
it was; short, thick, and clumsy, it could be none other than Father
Francis.
He halted, and I saw another man step forward to meet him. They were
too far away for me to recognize who the stranger was; wrapped in a
great cloak, he stood close to Francis and they seemed to be engaged
in an earnest conversation, for they would turn and point towards the
mansion as they talked, and I saw the priest double in a loud fit of
laughter.
At the sight a bitter smile crossed my lips, for I surmised that he was
relating how he had outwitted and trapped me.
I turned my head; footsteps soft and slow were coming down the hall,
and at the sound I crossed over to the door, and beat upon it with the
hilt of the dagger. The steps stopped outside.
"What is it, Señor?" said the low voice of one of the Indian
attendants, called José.
"Open, José," I whispered. "'Tis I, Sir Thomas."
A moment of silence. "I dare not, Señor," he whispered. "What would the
Count say?"
"Open," I pleaded, "and thou shalt have a fine piece of gold with the
face of the great mother across the water on it."
An instant, and then the key grated in the lock; the door swung open,
and the face of the native peered in.
"I know not what the lord would say, did he know that I had done this,"
he muttered, trembling.
"He need not know of it," I replied. "Not unless thou dost tell him,
for I most assuredly will not;" and tossing him a coin, I stopped only
long enough to pick up my sword, which lay in the corner where I had
dropped it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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