he table. He clutched at its edge and swayed forward above it, his head loosely swinging between his shoulders.
"Hurry!" he said in a thick, strangled voice. "Assizes--twenty-first--Jeffries."
And with a sudden convulsion he straightened himself, stood for a second on the tips of his toes, with the veins ridged on his livid face like purple weals, and then fell in a huddled lump upon the floor. I sprang to the stair-head and shouted for some one to run for a doctor. Jack was already loosening the man's shirt.
"It is a fit," he said, clasping a hand to his heart.
Luckily my bedroom gave onto the parlour, and between us we carried him within and laid him gently on my bed. His eyelids were open and his eyes fixed, but turned inwards, so that one saw but the whites of them, while a light froth oozed through his locked teeth.
"He will die," I cried.
A ewer of water stood by the bedside, and this I emptied over his head and shoulders, drowning the sheets, but to no other pu
In the 17th century, a studious young Britain is drawn to avenge the deadly betrayal of his friend by a treacherous Tyrolean count. Then he falls in love with the count's widow. The novel features loads of swashbuckling action, and could have been made into a fine movie for Errol Flynn, but on the page it stretches on rather long.