Two figures stood before him, distinctly visible in the light of the consuming flames. But, as he raised his weapon, one of the figures moved. Vytal had heard a rustle of leaves, yet the warning sound came all too late. A short tongue of fire flashed beneath the branches, almost simultaneously a musket-shot rang out, and Eleanor fell prostrate on the sand. A cry like the death-note of a soul rose from Vytal, and then the soldier’s face, in the first instant terribly anguished, was transformed to the face of wrath incarnate. His eyes were blue flames. He rushed to the strip of woods, with sword quivering. But Frazer lay dead, his face, lighted softly by the stars, showing no malevolence in its smile, more than ever boyish, guileless, and amused. CHAPTER VI “My heart is as an anvil unto sorrow, Which beats upon it like the Cyclops’ hammers, And with the noise turns up my giddy brain.” —MARLOWE, in _Edward the Second_. “Thus shall my heart be still combined with thine Until our bodies turn to elements And both our souls aspire celestial thrones.” —MARLOWE, in _Tamburlaine_. Vytal turned automatically and, with his old martial tread, crossed the sand to Eleanor. At her side he knelt for a moment transfixedly in silence, then sank down upon her and grasped her to him as if in an effort to revivify her lifeless form by the sheer might of his love and grief. But now a dark shadow, seemingly no more tangible than the shadow of Death, emerged from the forest and stood over them. “My brother, grieve not; perchance life is yet within her.” The Indian bent down and listened. “I hear no breath,” said Manteo, at last, “nor heartbeat. Her kirtle is stained with blood.” “Ay,” said Vytal, “she hath left me.” The Indian pointed westward. “Come, my brother, let us bear her to my people. They have gone to the main, and your countrymen with them. There, far from the sea and evil ships, they will live in peace. Thy Spanish enemies all have retreated before my men. Come, my brother, the voice of the forest calls you. There is no other way. Did not the stars at thy birth foretell that thou shouldst be a queen’s defender and the brother of a king? A queen’s defender thou hast been; the brother of a king I beseech thee to be always. Am I not that king of the prophecy? Is not the depth of the forest, solitary and ever dark, the fitting home for one in whose soul all happiness lies buried? My brother, come!” Vytal returned his gaze in silence, neither granting nor denying the earnest plea.