Marie: An Episode in the Life of the Late Allan Quatermain. Генри Райдер Хаггард

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      “It doesn’t do to kill one’s love and live on oneself,” I answered hoarsely. “We have got to go together,” and I cocked both barrels of the pistol.

      The Hottentot, Hans, who was in the place with us, saw and understood.

      “It is right, it is best!” he said; and turning, he hid his eyes with his hand.

      “Wait a little, Allan,” she exclaimed; “it will be time when the door is down, and perhaps God may still help us.”

      “He may,” I answered doubtfully; “but I would not count on it. Nothing can save us now unless the others come to rescue us, and that’s too much to hope for.”

      Then a thought struck me, and I added with a dreadful laugh: “I wonder where we shall be in five minutes.”

      “Oh! together, dear; together for always in some new and beautiful world, for you do love me, don’t you, as I love you? Maybe that’s better than living on here where we should be sure to have troubles and perhaps be separated at last.”

      I nodded my head, for though I loved life, I loved Marie more, and I felt that we were making a good end after a brave fight. They were battering at the door now, but, thank Heaven, Marais had made strong doors, and it held a while.

      The wood began to give at last, an assegai appeared through a shattered plank, but Hans stabbed along the line of it with the spear he held, that which I had snatched from the flank of the horse, and it was dropped with a scream. Black hands were thrust through the hole, and the Hottentot hacked and cut at them with the spear. But others came, more than he could pierce, and the whole door-frame began to be dragged outwards.

      “Now, Marie, be ready,” I gasped, lifting the pistol.

      “Oh, Christ receive me!” she answered faintly. “It won’t hurt much, will it, Allan?”

      “You will never feel anything,” I whispered; as with the cold sweat pouring from me I placed the muzzle within an inch of her forehead and began to press the trigger. My God! yes, I actually began to press the trigger softly and steadily, for I wished to make no mistake.

      It was at this very moment, above the dreadful turmoil of the roaring flames, the yells of the savages and the shrieks and groans of wounded and dying men, that I heard the sweetest sound which ever fell upon my ears —the sound of shots being fired, many shots, and quite close by.

      “Great Heaven!” I screamed; “the Boers are here to save us. Marie, I will hold the door while I can. If I fall, scramble through the window—you can do it from the chest beneath—drop to the ground, and run towards the firing. There’s a chance for you yet, a good chance.”

      “And you, you,” she moaned. “I would rather die with you.”

      “Do what I bid you,” I answered savagely, and bounded forward towards the rocking door.

      It was falling outward, it fell, and on the top of it appeared two great savages waving broad spears. I lifted the pistol, and the bullet that had been meant for Marie’s brain scattered that of the first of them, and the bullet which had been meant for my heart pierced that of the second. They both went down dead, there in the doorway.

      I snatched up one of their spears and glanced behind me. Marie was climbing on to the chest; I could just see her through the thickening smoke. Another Quabie rushed on. Hans and I received him on the points of our assegais, but so fierce was his charge that they went through him as though he were nothing, and being but light, both of us were thrown backwards to the ground. I scrambled to my feet again, defenceless now, for the spear was broken in the Kaffir, and awaited the end. Looking back once more I saw that Marie had either failed to get through the window or abandoned the attempt. At any rate she was standing near the chest supporting herself by her right hand. In my despair I seized the blade end of the broken assegai and dragged it from the body of the Kaffir, thinking that it would serve to kill her, then turned to do the deed.

      But even as I turned I heard a voice that I knew well shout: “Do you live, Marie?” and in the doorway appeared no savage, but Henri Marais.

      Slowly I backed before him, for I could not speak, and the last dreadful effort of my will seemed to thrust me towards Marie. I reached her and threw my hand that still held the gory blade round her neck. Then as darkness came over me I heard her cry:

      “Don’t shoot, father. It is Allan, Allan who has saved my life!”

      After that I remember no more. Nor did she for a while, for we both fell to the ground senseless.

      When my senses returned to me I found myself lying on the floor of the wagon-house in the back yard. Glancing from my half-opened eyes, for I was still speechless, I saw Marie, white as a sheet, her hair all falling about her dishevelled dress. She was seated on one of those boxes that we put on the front of wagons to drive from, “voorkissies” they are called, and as her eyes were watching me I knew that she lived. By her stood a tall and dark young man whom I had never seen before. He was holding her hand and looking at her anxiously, and even then I felt angry with him. Also I saw other things; for instance, my old father leaning down and looking at me anxiously, and outside in the yard, for there were no doors to the wagon-house, a number of men with guns in their hands, some of whom I knew and others who were strangers. In the shadow, too, against the wall, stood my blood mare with her head hanging down and trembling all over. Not far from her the roan lay upon the ground, its flank quite red.

      I tried to rise and could not, then feeling pain in my left thigh, looked and saw that it was red also. As a matter of fact an assegai had gone half through it and hit upon the bone. Although I never felt it at the time, this wound was dealt to me by that great Quabie whom Hans and I had received upon our spears, doubtless as he fell. Hans, by the way, was there also, an awful and yet a ludicrous spectacle, for the Quabie had fallen right on the top of him and lain so with results that may, be imagined. There he sat upon the ground, looking upwards, gasping with his fish-like mouth. Each gasp, I remember, fashioned itself into the word “Allemachte!” that is “Almighty,” a favourite Dutch expression.

      Marie was the first to perceive that I had come to life again. Shaking herself free from the clasp of the young man, she staggered towards me and fell upon her knees at my side, muttering words that I could not catch, for they choked in her throat. Then Hans took in the situation, and wriggling his unpleasant self to my other side, lifted my hand and kissed it. Next my father spoke, saying:

      “Praise be to God, he lives! Allan, my son, I am proud of you; you have done your duty as an Englishman should.”

      “Had to save my own skin if I could, thank you, father,” I muttered.

      “Why as an Englishman more than any other sort of man, Mynheer Predicant?” asked the tall stranger, speaking in Dutch, although he evidently understood our language.

      “The point is one that I will not argue now, sir,” answered my father, drawing himself up. “But if what I hear is true, there was a Frenchman in that house who did not do his duty; and if you belong to the same nation, I apologise to you.”

      “Thank you, sir; as it happens, I do, half. The rest of me is Portuguese, not English, thank God.”

      “God is thanked for many things that must surprise Him,” replied my father in a suave voice.

      At that moment this rather disagreeable conversation, which even then both angered and amused me faintly, came to an end, for the Heer Marais entered the place.

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