Martin Conisby

"Off, murderess!" I cried, and whirling her from me, heard her fall and lie moaning. "Come, sir," said I, aiding the Don to his feet, "let us be gone!" But what with weakness and his fetters Don Federigo could scarce stand, so I stooped and taking him across my shoulder, bore him from the place. But as I went an acrid smoke met me and with here and there a glimmer of flame, so that it seemed Joanna had fired the ship, my efforts notwithstanding. So reeled I, panting, to the upper air and, loosing Don Federigo, sank to the deck and stared dreamily at a dim moon.

And now I was aware of a voice in my ear, yet nothing heeded until, shaken by an importunate hand, I roused and sat up, marvelling to find myself so weak.

"Loose me, Señor Martino, loose off my bonds; the fire grows apace and I must go seek the Señorita--burning is an evil death as she said. Loose off my bonds--the Señorita must not burn--"

"No, she must not--burn!" said I dully, and struggling to my feet I saw a thin column of smoke that curled up the hatchway. Gasping and choking, I fought my way down where flames crackled and smoke grew ever denser. Suddenly amid this swirling vapour I heard a glad cry: "Ah, Martino mio--you could not leave me then to die alone!" And I saw Joanna, with arms stretched out to me, swaying against the angry glow behind her. So I caught her up in my embrace and slipping, stumbling, blind and half-choked, struggled up and up until at last I reeled out upon deck, and with Joanna thus clasped upon my breast, stood staring with dazed and unbelieving eyes at the vision that had risen up to confront me. For there before me, hedged about by wild figures and brandished steel, with slender hands tight-clasped together, with vivid lips apart and eyes wide, I thought to behold at last my beloved Damaris, my Joan, my dear, dear lady; but knowing this false, I laughed and shook my head.

"Deluding vision," said I, "blest sight long-hoped and prayed for--why plague me now?"

I was on my knees, staring up at this beloved shape through blinding tears and babbling I know not what. And then arms were about me, tender yet strong and compelling, a soft cheek was pressed to mine and in my ear Joan's voice: "Oh, my beloved--fret not thyself--here is no vision, my Martin--"

"Joan!" I panted. "Oh, Damaris--beloved!" And shaking off these fettering arms, I rose to my feet. "Joan, is it thou thyself in very truth, or do I see thee in heaven--"