San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1926-01-10
CHAPTER XXXVII.

the Gay following the redst ol
the Dead. A dull and sultry
daylight slanted inward through
the long window-slit, and the
stern dusk of the room was leav-
ened by it. Leavened but not
lightened. The dun skins of deer
hung, in the place of tapestry,
against the stone walls. The mar
row wooden bed, with its posts and
roof, was in deep shadow, and also
the great carved chest.
In an old chair with crossed
legs a man sat curiously slumped.
His shoulders pressed the wall be-
hind him; his face was lifted and
turned sideways towards the en-
tering light. Thongs bound his
wrists together at his back, and
other thongs held him to the chair.
He had been there long while
staring into the eycless dark that
gradually grayed, until now the
day had come. His wrists, though
this was hidden from sight, were
bloodied from the cut of the thongs
where he had tugged against them.
His face, dim thing in the rooms
twilight, was like wet clay, for he
had sweated.
For hours Gervais had suf-
fered in the manner Of persons
nut to the torture, whose limbs
are stretched by ropes and
pulleys, and their heads COM
pressed by iron bands until the
blood trickles from ears and nos
trils. 1t was not to be borne. 1t
was monstrous! Yet he still en-
dured it. and minute by minute 1t
increased. He was aware of a
kind of madness working in him:
And then there were prolonged
flashes of livid thought, clear as
barred knives, from which the
spirit WINGED away, yet could not
really stir.
He had crossed swords with the
legions of perdition, and-they had
prevailed. The blare of their
brazen trumpets was sounding
over him; their spiked spears were
brandished; their fantastic, horned
helmets triumphed, and their vast
bat-wing banners, leathern and
dreadful. His father, the Count,
was dead, and he himself was his
slayer.
How could he ever have be-
lieved that his one blade could put
an end to Satan-Satan, who
could change his shape as black
cloud does. and substitute living
christened flesh for his own false
human semblance? No; this
Satan, whose mightiness he had
defied, had made of him his
fathers murderer, and Sidonia
was to burn.
A shudder of the muscles passed
over him, but he knew that he
could not free himself. He had
endeavored to do so until bis
wrists were raw, and the sweat
stood on him like water cast in
his face. And then there was the
strong door of the room, fast
locked on its outer side. Perdition
had triumphed. He was in perdi-
ton. God was more remote than
the white cone of a mountain peak
seen from the bottom of valley
chasm. The saints and angels had
withdrawn also-a mere flight of
little far-off winged things. The
great Dlnions Of the Dragon flap
ped, and from his outlet came a
visible hot stencil like the scorch
of burning flesh.
The bound man groaned. 1t was
the first sound he had uttered dur
ing the long hours since midnight.
He felt that he must presently be-
come wholly mad, for the pressure
about his brain was beyond the
endurance of son of woman. But
that would be no deliverance TO-
Sidonia. She was so frail yet SO
tenacious and loving.
She had rested in his arms
they had exchanged long kisses
and mingled their blood. He had
redeemed her soul. She was
sacred. And morning had come,
and in an hour perhaps, or less
than that, they would burn her.
Torture; fire. His brain clouded,
\