. . . This vertu disconfiteth thyn
enemy. And therefore seith the wyse man, `If thou wolt
venquisse thyn enemy, lerne to suffre.'"--
CHAUCER, _Parson's Tale_.
"You have killed him." I lowered Nat's head, stood up and accused her
fiercely.
She confronted me, contemptuous yet pale. Even in my wrath I could
see that her pallor had nothing to do with fear.
"Say that I have, what then?" She very deliberately unhitched the
gun from her bandolier, and, after examining the lock, laid it on the
turf midway between us. "As my hostage you may claim vendetta; take
your shot then, and afterwards Marc'antonio shall take his."
"No, no, Englishman!" Marc'antonio ran between us while yet I stared
at her without comprehending, and there was anguish in his cry.
"The Princess lies to you. It was I that fired the shot--I that
killed your friend!"
The girl shrugged her shoulders indifferently. "Ah, well then,
Marc'antonio, since you will have it so, give me my gun again and
hand yours to the cavalier. Do as I tell you, please," she
commanded, as the man turned to her with a dropping jaw.
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