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Wolfgar was not dead; but when we picked him up it was obvious that he was dying. The violet beam vanished as his body struck it—vanished with a hiss and splutter, and a puff of sulphuric smoke that mingled with the smell of burning garments and flesh.
Georg and I leaped forward. Argo was standing transfixed by surprise at what Wolfgar had done; and as the beam died, Georg was upon him.
"One moment!"
The quiet, commanding voice of Tarrano. He must have come quickly, when informed by the finders of Argo's treachery. Yet he stood now at the arcade entrance, drawn to his full height, frowning with lowered brows, but wholly without appearance of haste.
"One moment—stand aside, all of you."
Argo cowered. The rest of us moved aside. Elza came toward me, and I put my arm around her. Poor little Elza! She was shivering with fright.
Tarrano seemed not to need information as to what had transpired. His eyes, roving over us, saw the lifeless, seared body of Wolfgar lying on the floor.
"Too bad," he said. Then his gaze swung to Argo.
"Master——"
"Silence!"
There was on Tarrano's face and in his voice an expression, a tone quite new to me. A quiet grimness. More than that. A quality of deadliness—of inexorable deadliness which could well have chilled the stoutest heart that fronted it.
"Come here, Argo." Tarrano stood quite motionless. "Argo!"
"Master! Master, you——"
"Come!"
Argo was on the floor. Shaking with terror—for he, probably better than any of us, understood what was coming—dragged himself to Tarrano's feet.
"Stand up!"
"Master, have mercy——"
"Stand up! Are you a man?"
Argo's legs would barely support him, but he struggled to get himself erect. With a wrench, Tarrano tore the robe from Argo's chest.
"Master! Master! Have mercy!"
In Tarrano's hand I saw a needle-like piece of steel. A dagger, yet it was more like a needle.
"Master—Oh——"
Tarrano had stabbed it gently into the man's chest. A mere prick into the flesh, and a tiny drop of blood oozed out.
For a moment Argo stood swaying. Eyes white-rimmed with mortal terror as he stupidly looked down at the drop of blood. A moment, then the injected poison took effect. He tottered, flung his arms above his head and fell. Lay writhing an instant; then twitching; and then quite still.
Tarrano turned away, his face impassive. "Unfortunate. He was a good man in many ways—I shall be sorry to lose his services." He saw me with my arm around Elza, and he frowned.
"So?"
Instinctively, involuntarily—and I hated myself for it—I dropped my arm.
Georg exclaimed: "Wolfgar—he——"
Tarrano turned from me. "He is not dead—but he will die. There is nothing we can do. I'm very sorry—very sorry indeed."
A sincere regret was in his tone. We lifted Wolfgar up, carried him to a depression in the floor by the wall—a shallow, couch-like bowl half-filled with down.
On the floor we gathered, seated on cushions; and presently Wolfgar regained consciousness. His face was not burned. It lighted with a dazed smile; and his eyes, searching us, picked out Maida.
"You are safe—I'm—so glad."
His voice was low and labored; and at once his eyes closed again as though the effort of speaking were too great.
Maida was sitting near me at Wolfgar's head, bending over him. She had recovered from her terror of Argo; and as she leaned down, gazing at the dying Wolfgar, I think I have never seen so gentle, so compassionate an expression upon the face of any woman.
Elza whispered: "There must be something we can do. The men of medicine—the lights—the healing lights! Georg! Cannot you use father's——"
They were only an overwrought girl's excited ideas, of course. Wolfgar's lungs were seared; even as Elza spoke, he coughed, and blood welled from his mouth—blood which Georg quickly wiped away.
Tarrano was on his feet behind us, with folded arms; and as he looked down, I saw on his face also—the face which a few moments before had been grim with deadly menace—a look now of gentle compassion very much like Maida's.
"No use," he said softly. "We can do nothing. He will die."
Again Wolfgar's eyes opened. "Die—of course." He tried to raise one of his burned hands, but dropped it back. "Die? Yes—of course. In just a moment...." His eyes, already dulled, swung about. "Who is that—crying? There's no need—to cry."
It was little Elza beside me, struggling to suppress her sobs.
Wolfgar's slow, labored voice demanded: "That isn't—my Princess Maida crying—is it? I don't want—her to cry——"
"No," said Georg gently. "Maida is here—right here by you. She isn't crying."
His gaze found Maida's face. "Oh, yes—I can see you—Princess Maida. You're not crying—that's good. There's nothing to—cry about."
He seemed for a moment to gather a little strength; he moved his head and saw Tarrano standing there behind us.
"Master?" He used the old term with a whimsical smile. "I—called you that—for a long time, didn't I? You have a right to consider me a traitor——"
"A spy," said Tarrano very gently. "Not a traitor. That you would have been had you served me—a traitor to your Princess."
Wolfgar's head tried to nod; relief was on his face. "I'm—glad you understand. I would not want to die—having you think harshly of me——"
"You are a man—I honor you." Abruptly Tarrano turned away and strode across the room. And always since I have wondered if he left that scene of death because of the emotion he could not hide.
Georg said: "You should not talk, Wolfgar."
"But I—want to talk. I have—only a few minutes. Just these—last few minutes—I want to talk to my—Princess Maida. You'll—excuse us—the Princess Maida and me—won't you? Just for these last—few minutes?"
We withdrew beyond his fading sight.
"My—Princess Maida——"
His voice still reached us. She leaned closer over him. Her tears were falling now, but as she spoke she strove for calmness.
"Wolfgar——"
His eyes were glazing, but they dung to her. "Princess——"
"No," she said. "Just Maida—your friend. The woman you have given your life for." Her voice almost broke. "Oh, Wolfgar! Never shall I forget that. To give your life——"
"It is—a great honor." The gesture he made to check her words of thanks exhausted him. His eyes closed; for a moment he seemed not to breathe. As Maida leaned down in alarm, her beautiful white hair tumbled forward over her shoulders. A lock of it brushed Wolfgar. He could not lift his hands, but they groped for the tresses, found them and clung. Her white waves of hair, with his fingers, shriveled, burned black, entwined in them.
Again his eyelids came up. "You won't leave me—Princess Maida. Not for these—last few minutes?"
"No," she half whispered.
"You—cannot—if you would." His whimsical smile returned. "You see? I am—holding you."
For a moment he was silent. His eyes stayed open, staring dully at her. His face and lips were drained now of their blood.
"You're—still there?"
"Yes, Wolfgar."
"Yes—of course I know you are. But I—cannot see you very well—now. You look—so far away."
She put her face down quite close to him. Her eyes were brimming with tears.
"Oh—yes," he said. "That's better—much better. Now I can—see you—very plainly. I was thinking—I wanted to—tell you something. It—wouldn't be right to tell you—except that I'll soon—be gone where it won't make any difference."
He gathered all his last remaining strength. "I—love you—Princess Maida."
She forced a gentle smile through her tears. "Yes, Wolfgar."
"I mean," he persisted, "not as my Princess—just as—a woman. The—woman I've always loved. That's been my secret. You see? It would—always have been—my secret—the little Mars man Wolfgar—in love with his Princess Maida. You—don't think it too impertinent of me—do you? I mean—confessing it now—just at—the end?"
"No," she whispered. "No, Wolfgar."
"Thank you—very much." His breath exhaled with a faint sigh. "Thank you—very much. I wanted to tell you that—before I—go. And—if you wouldn't mind—I want to—call you—just Maida."
"Just Maida, Wolfgar. Yes, of course, I want you to call me that." Her voice was broken. She brushed away her tears that he might not notice them.
"Yes," he agreed. His staring eyes were trying to see her. "My Maida. You're—very beautiful—my Maida. I—wonder—you see, I'm taking advantage of you—I wonder if you'd say you—love me? I'd be so happy—just to hear you say it."
As I sat there behind them, I prayed then that she might say it.
"I love you, Wolfgar."
"Oh," he whispered. "You did say it! My Maida says that she loves me!" Happiness transfigured his livid face. But his smile was whimsical still. "You're—very kind to me. Please—say it again."
"I love you, Wolfgar."
"Yes—that's how I always dreamed it would sound. I—love—you—Wolfgar."
His voice trailed away; a film was settling over his staring eyes. Then again his lips moved. "Maida says—'I love you, Wolfgar' ... I'm—so happy...."
Quite suddenly she realized that he was gone. Her pent-up emotion came with a sob.
"Wolfgar! My friend—my wonderful, loyal friend—don't die, Wolfgar! Don't die!"