The Crimson Sign: A Narrative of the Adventures of Mr. Gervase Orme, Sometime Lieutenant in Mountjoy's Regiment of Foot — John Shaqi
The Crimson Sign: A Narrative of the Adventures of Mr. Gervase Orme, Sometime Lieutenant in Mountjoy's Regiment of FootKeightley, S. R. (Samuel Robert)
History
The Crimson Sign: A Narrative of the Adventures of Mr. Gervase Orme, Sometime Lieutenant in Mountjoy's Regiment of Foot
And mine she had, ay, and my soul too--all,
all.”
Macpherson rose and paced the kitchen with a hasty stride, his long
brown hands clasped before him, and his leonine head thrown back. His
eyes were filled with the strange, wild light Gervase had noticed once
or twice before; his voice thrilled with suppressed emotion.
“How she purred and ogled and slighted honest Jack, to whom she had
plighted her troth, and whom she was to marry in a sennight! God help
me! I was wicked and mad; I forgot my friend and robbed him of his
mistress. Then the end came. Never, never shall I forgot it. ´Twas a
moonlight night in the pleasant summer time; I was drunken with the
passion of lust, and Annchen and I had forgotten the hours as we stood
locked in each other´s arms, under the shadow of the city´s walls.
Suddenly a tall form came between us, and a sword flashed out in the
moonlight. I knew it was Jack Killigrew, and knew that either he or I
must die for this deed. Our blades crossed, and while Jezebel stood
looking on, my friend and I (and truer comrade had no man) sought each
the heart´s blood of the other. May God in His mercy forgive me, for I
shall never forgive myself. Oh! we fought a bitter fight under the walls
that June night, and he died hard. For I killed him; yes, I killed him.
Do not start or turn away from me--his sweetheart did not, Nay, when he
was down and his life blood was flowing from his breast, she threw her
arms about me, and told me that I was a man, and she loved a man. You do
not know what it is when love turns to hate. I flung her from me,
cursing her, with anguish in my heart that I had not words to speak of.
I never saw her again, but often I see the face of Jack Killigrew lying
there turned up to the moonlight and frowning as he died. ´Twas the sin
against the Holy Ghost, I sometimes think. An ocean of tears will not
wash out the deed.”
“´Tis a sad story,” said Gervase, with emotion, “and better left untold.
But I think not that all women are like Annchen, whom I cannot
understand, else were life hardly worth living, and death better than
life.”
“That it is--that it is. Life is a burden we must bear as best we can--a
heavy load for the back of the strongest. You are young and cannot yet
understand the matter, but for me I would that my salvation was assured,
as sometimes I have hoped it is, and that I were entering into my rest.
But youth cannot understand this, nor will I compel you to listen to
me.”
“Nay,” answered Gervase, “rather would I be by your side fighting in the
good cause, for Heaven knows strong arms like yours are needed now, if
need ever was. I cannot foresee how it will end.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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