over her shoulders, her face was ghastly pale, and her eyes gleamed wildly in the light of the torches. In her shaking hand she held a revolver, and as she tottered forward she fired it at Rupert Hentzau. The ball missed him and struck the woodwork over my head.
"Faith, madame," laughed Rupert, "had your eyes been no more deadly than your shooting I had not been in this scrape nor Black Michael in hell—to-night!"
She took no notice of his words. With a wonderful effort she calmed herself till she stood still and rigid. Then, very slowly and deliberately, she began to raise her arm again, taking most careful aim.
He would be mad to risk it. He must rush on her, chancing the bullet, or retreat toward me. I Covered him with my weapon.
He did neither. Before she had got her aim he bowed in his most graceful fashion, cried, "I can't kill where I've kissed," and before she or I could stop him laid his hand on the parapet of the bridge, and lightly leaped into the moat.
