Rupert was beaten; he felt it and knew
it, and I read the knowledge in his eyes. I stepped up to Rudolf
Rassendyll. He heard or felt me, and turned his eyes for an
instant. I do not know what my face said, but he shook his head
and turned back to Rupert. The revolver, held still in the man's
own hand, was at his heart. The motion ceased, the point was
reached.
I looked again at Rupert. Now his face was easier; there was a
slight smile on his lips; he flung back his comely head and
rested thus against the wainscoting; his eyes asked a question of
Rudolf Rassendyll. I turned my gaze to where the answer was to
come, for Rudolf made none in words. By the swiftest of movements
he shifted his grasp from Rupert's wrist and pounced on his hand.
Now his forefinger rested on Rupert's and Rupert's was on the
trigger. I am no soft-heart, but I laid a hand on his shoulder.
He took no heed; I dared do no more. Rupert glanced at me. I
caught his look, but what could I say to him? Again my eyes were
riveted on Rudolf's finger. Now it was crooked round Rupert's,
seeming like a man who strangles another.
I will not say more. He smiled to the last; his proud head, which
had never bent for shame, did not bend for fear.
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