The "peasant woman" on the hill covered her face with both
hands and shivered. The messengers of death flew about the head of her
lover, but left him unharmed.
Vavel now moved nearer to the attacking foe, and himself made straight
for the leader. One of De Fervlans's lieutenants, however, a thick-set,
sun-browned Sicilian, met the count's assault. There was a little
sword-play, then Vavel struck his adversary's blade from his hand with a
force that sent it whizzing through the air, and with his left hand
thrust the Sicilian, who was reaching for his pistols, from the saddle.
Nor had Vavel's companions been idle the while. The first assault was a
success for the count's troop. De Fervlans now ordered a retreat. The
death-heads looked upon this as a victory, and eagerly pursued the
retreating foe. But the woman on the hill had already perceived that the
retreat was but a feint. She saw the demons crouching among the reeds in
the thicket, and guessed their intention.
"Vavel!" she shouted at the top of her voice, "Vavel, take care! Look to
your rear!"
She imagined that her lover would hear her amid the tumult of the fight.
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