It was a matter of pride, too.
If he abandoned his post he feared they would think
he feared the corpse. He was no coward and he was
unwilling to incur anybody's ridicule. So he again
seated himself, and to prove his courage looked
boldly at the body. The right arm--the one farthest
from him--was now in shadow. He could hardly
see the hand which, he had before observed, lay at
the root of a clump of laurel. There had been no
change, a fact which gave him a certain comfort, he
could not have said why. He did not at once remove
his eyes; that which we do not wish to see has a
strange fascination, sometimes irresistible. Of the
woman who covers her eyes with her hands and looks
between the fingers let it be said that the wits have
dealt with her not altogether justly.
Byring suddenly became conscious of a pain in his
right hand. He withdrew his eyes from his enemy and
looked at it. He was grasping the hilt of his drawn
sword so tightly that it hurt him. He observed, too,
that he was leaning forward in a strained attitude--
crouching like a gladiator ready to spring at the
throat of an antagonist. His teeth were clenched and
he was breathing hard. This matter was soon set
right, and as his muscles relaxed and he drew a long
breath he felt keenly enough the ludicrousness of the
incident. It affected him to laughter. Heavens! what
sound was that? what mindless devil was uttering
an unholy glee in mockery of human merriment? He
sprang to his feet and looked about him, not recogniz-
ing his own laugh.
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