Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 54: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

48 Hae two friendless adventurers of surviving im. “Courage, my friends!” laughed the Frenchman, reading the dismay in their faces. “We will drink together at King Henry’s court some blithe day, you and I. _Now I must ride on my errand, which brooks no delay. Farewell! May the bless- ing of my patron, St. Peter the Swordsman, be upon you!” | “And on you, brave sir,” Geoffrey an- swered courteously. ‘“‘But when we meet, you will know our faces, yet weshall not know yours.” “Know then my name,” the Frenchman retorted. ‘Men call me Pierre de |’Espée.”’ Away he rode, while Geoffrey stood look- ing after him with admiring eyes and a sor- rowing heart. Ah, he had dreamed of be- coming just such a gallant captain in Henry’s service, and then, when the vic- tory should be won, of riding in triumph to Peterborough and claiming Margaret for his bride. Now that dream vanished with the stranger who had ridden into and out of his life so casually. Geoffrey turned a saddened face to Gislac. “Whither do we go now?” he asked. “Aye, whither?” echoed the other dully. “Wherever we turn, death waits.” ci worn and old. He had counted on Henry’s coming to bring about Stephen’s downfall, the destruction of his own and Geoffrey’s enemies and a fair end to his own afflictions. This last great hope having failed him, he knew not where to begin anew. Without money or friends, with only his sword and Geoffrey’s—with- out evén a mail hauberk between them, what could they do? They were fair prey for the first robber baron or the first brace of sturdy outlaws. Even should they win to the coast alive, they had neither the skill to work their passage to France nor the assurance of wel- come there, now that there was to be no war. Despondently Gislac stood in the dust of the road, bitterly aware that the boy was looking confidently to him for the guid- ance and counsel he had not to give. As Geoffrey waited, he made up his own mind. “Let us go to Peterborough,” he offered shyly. “There, in that strong and holy SIR GILES felt suddenly very Adventure city we shall be safe till the new king comes and the evil times are at an end. And we shall be with Margaret.” “Margaret!” Her father could not stifle the groan of anguish that the thought of her tore from him. Geoffrey searched Gislac’s face with frightened eyes. “Why do you speak her name so fear- somely?” he cried. ‘Have you ill news that you have been keeping from me? Is she in peril? Is she—is she——” Gislac shook his head. In vain he strove to think of some plausible answer. He had neither the heart nor the invention to carry the deception further. Geoffrey was now well again; the time had come when he must be told the truth. “Margaret lives,” he said, “but not at Peterborough.”’ “Not at Peterborough? But you told me 9 ‘“‘A lie! When you were so weak that the truth would have slain you swifter than a sword-thrust. Learn the truth now, and the blessed saints give you the fortitude to bear it. “Had you been found at the taking of High Tower, you must have fallen into your uncle’s hands and been put to death. There was but one way to smuggle you out alive, and that was to accept the terms offered by your uncle’s allies behind his back. By those terms de Born obtained High Tower, and Umfraville——” He faltered, but Geoffrey read the rest in his eyes. ‘‘Margaret!”’ Sir Giles nodded. “Of her own free will she gave herself for you. It was the only way.” “Oh—why did you let her?” the young man cried. ‘Ah, that I should live at such a price! Why did you not refuse and let me die?” “To what avail? We were starving. They would soon have stormed the tower. What of Margaret then, a prisoner of war? Unless she had stabbed herself and died in mortal sin, she might have suffered a far worse fate than to be Umfraville’s wife.” Geoffrey answered not. He stood silent and rigid, as if turned to stone. No marble saint had a whiter face than his under the moonlight. But it was no saint-like change that came over his features‘ the blood that had rushed to his heart at the shock of COmiclbook C©