Martin Conisby

Thus sang Tressady, looking from the languorous woman at his side to the languorous woman graven on the dagger-hilt and so thrust it back into his girdle.

And in a while Joanna rose, drawing the heavy boat-cloak about her shapeliness: "There is a small bower I wot of down in the shadows yonder shall be my chamber to-night," said she, staring up at the moon. "And so good night! I'm a-weary!" Then she turned, but doing so her foot touched Resolution's leg where he sat, whereat he did strange thing, for at this soft touch he started, glanced up at her, his eye very wide and bright, and I saw his two powerful hands become two quivering fists, yet when he spoke his voice was calm and even.

"Good night, Joanna--fair dreams attend thee." Then Joanna, eluding Tressady's clutching hand, went her way, singing to herself very sweet and low.

Hereupon Tressady grew very boisterous and merry and perceiving Mings and his fellows inclined for slumber, roared them to wakefulness, bidding them drink with him and damning them for sleepy dogs. Yet in a while he fell silent also and presently takes out his dagger and begins fondling it. Then all at once he was on his feet, the dagger glittering evilly in his hand the while he glared from me to Resolution and back again.

"Good night, my bullies!" said he. "Good night--and let him follow that dare!" And with a sound 'twixt a growl and a laugh, he turned and strode away, singing as he went. Now hereupon, nothing doubting his intent, I sprang to my feet and made to follow, but felt myself caught in an iron grip and stared down into the grim face of Resolution.

"Easy, friend--sit down, comrade--here beside me, brother."

"Aye, truly, you were wiser, Martin!" said Mings, winking and tapping the pistol in his belt.

Now Resolution sat in the mouth of the small cave I have mentioned and I noticed he had slipped his right hand behind him and sat thus, very still, his gaze on the dying fire like one hearkening very eagerly for distant sounds, wherefore I did the like and thus, from somewhere amid the shadowy thickets, I heard Tressady sing again that evil song of his: "Two by the knife did lose their life And three the bullet took O. But three times three died plaguily A-wriggling--"

The singing ended suddenly and indescribably in a sound that was neither cry nor groan nor choke, yet something of each and very ghastly to be heard.

"What was yon!" cried Mings, starting and blinking sleep from his eyes to peer towards those gloomy thickets.