The Outlaw of Torn

By Edgar Rice Burroughs

Page 93

no attempt to force

He was fully dressed and in armor, as he had been when struck down, but
his helmet was gone, as were also his sword and dagger.

The day was drawing to a close and, as dusk fell and the room darkened,
he became more and more impatient. Repeated pounding upon the door
brought no response and finally he gave up in despair. Going to
the window, he saw that his room was some thirty feet above the
stone-flagged courtyard, and also that it looked at an angle upon other
windows in the old castle where lights were beginning to show. He saw
men-at-arms moving about, and once he thought he caught a glimpse of a
woman's figure, but he was not sure.

He wondered what had become of Joan de Tany and Mary de Stutevill. He
hoped that they had escaped, and yet--no, Joan certainly had not, for
now he distinctly remembered that his eyes had met hers for an instant
just before the blow fell upon him, and he thought of the faith and
confidence that he had read in that quick glance. Such a look would
nerve a jackal to attack a drove of lions, thought the outlaw. What a
beautiful creature she was; and she had stayed there with him during the
fight. He remembered now. Mary de Stutevill had not been with her as he
had caught that glimpse of her, no, she had been all alone. Ah! That was
friendship indeed!

What else was it that tried to force its way above the threshold of his
bruised and wavering memory? Words? Words of love? And lips pressed to
his? No, it must be but a figment of his wounded brain.

What was that which clicked against his breastplate? He felt, and found
a metal bauble linked to a mesh of his steel armor by a strand of silken
hair. He carried the little thing to the window, and in the waning light
made it out to be a golden hair ornament set with precious stones, but
he could not tell if the little strand of silken hair were black or
brown. Carefully he detached the little thing, and, winding the filmy
tress about it, placed it within the breast of his tunic. He was vaguely
troubled by it, yet why he could scarcely have told, himself.

Again turning to the window, he watched the lighted rooms within his
vision, and presently his view was rewarded by the sight of a knight
coming within the scope of the narrow casement of a nearby chamber.

From his apparel,

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