The Palace of Darkened Windows by Mary Hastings Bradley


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Page 87

"You say that? You forget who I am! My brother--I tell you my
brother will----"

"Do I not know the risks?" His eyes narrowed. "But your brother will
ask in vain. He will not see you--until we reappear as husband and
wife. I will take you to the Continent, then I will give you
everything a woman wants, luxury and jewels--the pearls of my
ancestors I will hang on you. These have no woman of mine worn. You
shall be my adored, my dearest---- Oh, you must not turn from me," he
pleaded, his voice sinking softer and softer as he stole closer to
her. "You know that I am mad for you. You have bewitched me, little
Rose, you have made me strong and weak in a breath. I am clay in
your hands. Be sweet, be kind, be wife to me----" His hot hand
gripped her arm. He bent over her, and she sprang back, her hands
flung out before her.

"Oh, wait!" she cried beseechingly. "Wait--please wait."

"Wait? I have waited too long!" His voice was a snarl now. The mask
of indolent mockery was gone; his face was stamped with cruelty and
greed. "_Nom d'un nom_, I am through with this waiting!"

She sprang back before his approach, then whirled about to face him,
trying to beat him back with words, with reason, with appeal.
Insanely he laughed and clutched at her as she flew past his
outstretched arms; in the corner he pinioned her against the wall
and gripped her to him.

Terror gave her the strength of two--and his hand was bandaged.
Desperately she attacked it, and as his laughter changed to curses,
she wrenched free once more and flew across the room. With both
hands she seized the candles and flung them into the pillowed divan;
holding the last two to the draperies. Like magic the little flames
zigzagged up the cotton hangings.

He threw himself upon the fire, dragging down the hangings, beating
on the cushions, but the corner was ablaze. Overhead the flames
seized cracklingly on the dry wood and darted little red tongues
over the dry surface and a scarlet snake ran out over the carved
ceiling.

In utter wildness Arlee had carried the last candle to the open
hamper and the garments there caught instant fire. She was oblivious
of the sparks falling about her, oblivious of the increasing peril.
When Kerissen ran to the door, tearing open the bolts, furiously
cursing her, she gave him back the ghost of his earlier mocking
laughter and threatened him with a blazing cloth as he turned to
drag her from the room.

But the fire reached her fingers and she flung the cloth at him, to
have him trample it under foot as he sprang toward her again.

"Would you be burned--be marred?" he shouted at her. "You are mad,
you----"

Behind him the door opened. Behind him a tall figure appeared
through the thickening smoke. She saw a face she knew; a voice she
knew cried out her name:

"Arlee!"

"Oh, here!" she cried and flung herself toward him.

"Not unless you want another?" said Billy B. Hill to the Captain,
turning his gun suggestively.

One tense instant the three faced each other in that flaming room,
then with a sound of impotent fury, Kerissen turned and darted out
the door. But as Billy turned to follow, his hand on Arlee's, there
was a sound of sliding bolts.

"Burn, burn, then! Burn together!" called a hoarse voice through the
wood.

Hill flung himself against the door; it was unyielding. On the other
side the taunts continued. He ran to the window, catching up the
little table as he ran, and rained a fury of blows with the table
against the close-carved screen. The wood splintered and broke; he
wrenched a side away, and dropping his gun in his pocket he crashed
through the hole and hung on the outside by his hands.

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Mon 19th Jan 2026, 5:40