It may have been that, like some
better men, they had merely had enough.
From whatever cause, the attack ceased almost with the suddenness
with which it had begun; they fell back from the doorway; Harry
lunged forward with raised club, and the forms melted away into
the darkness of the corridor.
Harry turned and looked at me as I stood swaying from side to
side in the doorway. Neither of us could speak. Together we
staggered back across the room, but I had not gone more than half
way when my legs bent under me and I sank to the floor. Dimly I
saw Harry's face above me, as though through a veil--then another
face that came close to my own--and a voice:
"Paul! My love! They have killed him!"
Soft white arms were about my neck, and a velvet cheek was
pressed against my own.
"Desiree!" I gasped. "Don't! Harry! No, they have not killed
me--"
Then Harry's voice:
"That's all right, old fellow. I know--I have known she loves
you. This is no time to talk of that. Listen, Paul--what you were
going to do for Desiree--if you can--they will be back at any
moment--"
That thought kindled my brain; I raised myself onto my elbow.
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