Terence O'Rourke

“ His face had become fairly livid—as white, well-nigh, as his collar; and his eyes burned like live coals.
"Von Wever," O'Rourke cried in a tone that brought the wretch's eyes obedient to his gaze, "tell Mr. Senet if this be true."
The German answered without premeditation, for O'Rourke had recounted his narrative with such a wealth of circumstance—and it was all so true—that he was appalled.
"The countess told you!" he snarled.
"Ah! but she did not," remarked O'Rourke. "Then it is true?"
"True?" The sound of his own voice carried a flush of returning courage to the man's heart. "True?" ”

“ O'Rourke turned his eyes to the seas again; the mist was spreading, he observed—spreading and rising in silvery coils; Gibraltar was no longer visible. Only the footsteps of a man scrambing along the narrow street at the foot of the terrace broke the silence.
"There," said the Irishman to himself, "is a woman whose pardon I should ask. She is suffering, yes—but for another's sin, not her own. She's a good woman, if ever I knew one."
He swallowed the drink at his elbow. "Poor Senet!" he muttered, rising and going into the gambling salon of the Hôtel d'Angleterre. ”

“ O'Rourke called to him.
"Find the man Soly," he said softly, in the Spahi's ear, "and bring him to me at once. Don't make any fuss—but shoot him like a dog if he resists. Also, bring me his arms."
His Spahi saluted, and walked carelessly away, with the air of one on no pressing errand. O'Rourke watched him out of sight, into the shadows of the palms, with an approving hod. "A good man, that; I'll remember him."
He returned to his tent, entered and relit the lamp. Chambret protested against this heedless courting of danger, but the Irishman remained obdurate. ”

“ O'Rourke's breath came fast as he looked; for she was surprisingly fair and good to look upon. It was the first time he had seen her clearly enough to fully comprehend her perfection, and he stood for a moment, without stirring, or, indeed, coherently thinking. It was not the nature of this man to neglect a beautiful woman at any time; he grudged this girl no meed of the admiration that was her due.
In a moment he felt her fingers soft and warm about his own; his heart leaped—an Irishman's heart, not fickle, but inflammable ”

“ In the momentary stupefaction that seized upon the conspirators, numbing them mind and body, for the instant, O'Rourke leaped to the doorway.
He held a revolver in each hand. Possibly to each of the nine about the table it seemed as though one muzzle was trained upon his head alone. They stood helpless for a space. O'Rourke, chancing to observe Arabi's face, could have laughed because of its whitish tinge.
"Ye will please not move, messieurs," he announced loudly. "I have the drop on ye all, and the man who thinks I cannot see him move will find out his mistake. ”

“ Faith, 'tis hardly honorable, but 'tis meself that will listen—for Senet's sake," he soothed his conscience.
Again they passed.
"That," said the man, in accents of finality, "or marriage!"
"But—but I cannot marry you, Herr Captain!"
"Captain, eh?" said O'Rourke.
"Europe need never know that your husband lives, countess."
The woman stopped, and the man halted with her. O'Rourke could hear the hurried, desperate sound of her breathing. He fancied that he could see her, pale with rage and dread, as she faced the oppressor.
"I will not! I will not!" cried the woman. ”

“ He opened his eyes very wide indeed. "Faith," he exclaimed, "madame, ye speak in riddles. I fail to comprehend. 'Tis meself that's the bad hand at riddles."
She did not reply directly, but contented herself with watching closely through her long and upcurled lashes the play of expression upon the Irishman's ingenuous and open features. She could have read therefrom naught in the world but bewilderment; for that was coming to be O'Rourke's sole emotion at such times as the strangeness of the affair made him forget to admire this woman. ”

“ When they were alone, Monsieur le Prince threw himself into a chair with a grim laugh—indeed, it was more like a snarl. "It is already decided, this duel," he told O'Rourke familiarly; "your principal walks in a dead man's shoes. Now, had it been you, monsieur, I would be less easy in my mind. But Chambret! He knows naught of the sword."
"Do ye believe it?" queried O'Rourke incredulously. ”

“ I'm told that a novice is the moat dangerous of opponents, "as a rule."
"Faith," cried the Irishman, "I owe ye a debt of gratitude that grows like a rolling snowball. And, mon ami," he added thoughtfully, "I'm thinking that when we fight 'twill be with snowballs. I know nothing else that ye cannot best me with."
It was three o'clock in the morning when O'Rourke returned to the oasis, side by side with the Frenchman, Mouchon. At the door of the latter's tent he stopped and looked around. ”

“ The dun-colored beast arose by sections—first the one hind quarter, then the other, then the fore quarters with one sudden, tremendous lurch; O'Rourke shouted at it a native word of command. It started forward swiftly, long neck outstretched, up the gully of the Wadi Saglat, bearing the Irishman into the unknown wilds of the desert.
O'Rourke was without food or water, without protection from the sun; he had nothing to depend upon but this camel, his Mauser, and the high, bold heart of him. ”

“ Through the open door of the compartment naught was visible save the blank darkness of a winter's night, under a sky shrouded with a pall of lowering clouds. Near at hand a small hand lantern swung a foot or more above the ground, its rays lighting up a patch of sodden earth perhaps a yard in diameter, and silhouetting the boots and gaiters of a man, the upper half of whose body was invisible.
Bending over O'Rourke were two others—the guard and a uniformed stranger, whose hand still lay heavy upon the Irishman's shoulder as he continued to peer intently into his face. ”

“ The Irishman sought his cot; he lay down fully dressed, too weary to compose himself properly for his slumbers. What he needed, must have, was rest—no matter how, nor when, nor where. Sleep, oblivion—he desired it as he hoped for salvation.
But it appeared that he could not sleep. The night was old, the moon in her glory; a pale, intense light filtered down through the overhanging date palms, and lit up the interior of the tent, sharply defining its every object with black shadow.
O'Rourke closed his eyes obstinately. ”

“ He gasped, thrust his hand swiftly into his breast pocket, and sprang for Chambret's throat, flourishing a blade that glittered in the lamplight. But he brought up abruptly, and recovered his senses, with his nose to the muzzle of O'Rourke's revolver.
Monsieur le Prince's eyes ranged furiously from the Irishman to his own compatriot. He put up the knife with a swagger. "Ah," said he; "a conspiracy, I see, messieurs."
"Exactly," drawled O'Rourke. "Just as much so as yours with Soly."
Prince Felix stepped back, with a little cry of rage.
"The man lies!" he gasped. ”

“ O'Rourke put in deferentially. "Let me assure ye that in this enlightened age, even a Georges de Lützelburg will not undertake a cold-blooded murder—before witnesses."
He stepped forward, opening the door against which he stood. Madame looked from his face to Chambret's, from Monsieur le Prince's back to O'Rourke's again. "I am afraid—" she faltered; then abruptly was resolved, and, holding her head high, passed out into the night.
"You will be kind enough to shoot the bolt," O'Rourke heard the voice of the prince. ”

“ Chambret quickly swung up the shade of the lamp, nodding in satisfaction as the glare disclosed the lineaments of the Irishman.
"I thought so," he said. "I was not mistaken."
O'Rourke dropped languidly, easily, into the chair, swinging a careless leg over one of its arms.
"Upon me word!" he mused aloud. "What is he driving at now, d'ye think? Is the man mad?"
Chambret's attitude was a puzzle to him. If the man had immediately identified him, why had he not been denounced to the princess at once? Why this delay, this playing to the gallery for melodramatic effect? ”

“ Behind him—apparently the eighth of a mile distant—the stark and ugly battlements of the Castle of Grandlieu reared their blunt heads to Heaven. Before them, immediately at hand, lay the road, and upon it squatted, huge and monstrous, an automobile, purring huskily, diffusing a taint of petrol upon the cold night air, illuminating the highway with huge, glaring head lamps.
The woman paused and caught O'Rourke in her arms again. "My beloved!" she said. And then, turning, called aloud: "Monsieur Chambret!"
A man clambered hastily out of the tonneau of the car and came running towards them. ”

“ El Kebr, that oasis which was sometime the site of Troya, the Magnificent-to-be, vanished, was blotted out as by the hand of God.
The sandstorm advanced with incredible rapidity; O'Rourke, suddenly conscious that he was delaying escape, imperiling the lives of his comrades, by thus lingering, withdrew his fascinated gaze and prepared to descend to the waiting catamaran. And at once he became aware that he stood not alone; a man's figure loomed beside his own. ”

“ In the northwest a drift of inky smoke trailed just above the horizon; otherwise there was no sign of man nor of life on the sea, save for the Eirene, fighting forward on her way thrilling with the vibration of the screws, panting hoarsely, ramming her keen nose into the sullen, strong swells.
On her decks men clustered like flies wherever a bit of shade was to be had; but men motionless, staring ahead with straining eyes, reluctant to lift a finger—crushed by the oppression of the heat. ”

“ And out of their depths the woman's soul flamed to greet O'Rourke; the love that she bore him gleamed and glowed therein,—even as he had seen it glow when he had loved her, long years past, undying and undoubting, faithful unto the end, whatever that might be when it should come.
"This," he said, awed, "is a miracle—a miracle, sweetheart—this portrait of ye. Faith, 'tis beyond belief, so real it makes your presence seem, dearest. And d'ye think—or does Chambret think—that I can look into those eyes and believe that ye are marrying this fellow, Duke Victor, of your own choosing? Faith, no! ”

“ And when that did not come, he raised his gaze again to the face of the adventurer, puzzled, wondering; and saw O'Rourke standing at ease, regarding him with pity; but without hatred. He recognized that the Irishman was of a fiber finer than his own, that he could spare the life even of an antagonist who had but the moment gone tried to take his own by cowardly assault. And the knowledge was insupportable; it was intolerable to contemplate an existence owed to the mercy of a man to whom one had shown no mercy. ”

“ Can the O'Rourke be serving a friend in any way?"
"You are unemployed?"
"True for ye, Chambret. Ye have said it."
"Will you accept—"
"Mon ami," O'Rourke stated explicitly, "I'll do anything—anything in the whole world that's clean and honorable, saving it's handling a pen. That I will not do for any living man ”

“ He was the second to step ashore, and at that opportunely to catch the arm of the impetuous Lemercier and save him a fall in the sands.
For this Frenchman who would be emperor, in his overwhelming desire to set foot upon the lands he designed for empire, was over-hasty in jumping ashore. He slipped, stumbled, plunged forward with wildly grasping hands.
"An omen!" he whimpered, turning toward O'Rourke, when by his aid he had regained balance. His countenance had lost its proud smile; he seemed a very child to O'Rourke—a child frightened by the darkness or by an old woman's tale. ”

“ Her hair was of the blackness of jet, and of its high luster. And as for her eyes, to O'Rourke they were like nothing in the world but the soft, warm depths of the star-strewn Mediterranean—infinitely beautiful, infinitely dark, infinitely tempting. They drew his gaze as with a magnetic attraction; he looked, looked deep, and for the moment forgot—forgot Cairo, Shepheard's, Egypt—forgot even another woman beyond the seas to whom his troth was plighted, for whom he wandered in strange lands seeking his fugitive fortunes. ”

“ Be thankful 'tis so; innocence is a gloss that too soon wears off."
Young Senet bagan to wag his head argumentatively. "Well," he began, "of course, I know I'm new—"
"Ye are," O'Rourke affirmed solemnly, his twinkling eyes robbing his words of all suspicion of offensiveness. "Green—that's the word. Me boy, ye're no better than a salad. 'Tis truth for ye—and all for no reason in the world but that ye're dacint and a gentleman. Now, I mean ye no harm by saying this; but what ye know about the Moors and the rest of us here in Tangiers I could put in me eye without so much as winking. ”

“ O'Rourke slid unostentatiously into a vacant seat at the extreme end of the table. A man at his elbow looked up with passing curiosity, but immediately averted his gaze;, otherwise the Irishman attracted no attention. For a few minutes he sat idle, watching the play, the players, the croupier presiding over the wheel—a figure that fascinated his; imagination: a man vulture-like with his frigid impassivity, mathematically marvelous in the swiftness, the unerring, accuracy of his mental computations as he paid out the winnings or raked in the losings. ”

“ If madam lost, there would remain only the Irishman. And the tables are not kept open for one lone player.
The wheel gradually stopped; for an instant the ball was sliding smoothly in its ebony run; another, and it rattled madly over the compartments.
The countess's eyes refused to leave the ivory arbiter of her fate; she hung upon its maneuvers, fascinated. To all appearances O'Rourke was in like suspense; yet the Irishman's swift glance did not fail to record the fact that one of the croupier's hands had sunk beneath the level of the table. ”