My confused mind heard as in some weird dream fragments of his mad ravings mingling fantastically with the words of the carol:
Christ was born on Christmas Day, Wreathe the holly, twine the bay, _Christus natus hodie_. The Babe, the Son, the Holy One of Mary, He is born to set us free--
_Laus Deo!_ the band that connected my two wrists gave way. I was free! And at the same moment the first stroke of midnight chimed from the village steeple.
At that sound the artist snatched up the dagger from the table, and turned towards me.
"The hour is come! Art demands her victim."
"Stand off, you devil, or I'll brain you!" I cried, springing forward with the ends of the purple silk trailing from my wrists.
The pistols I had brought with me lay on the table beyond my reach, for the artist stood between them and me, and in default of any other means of defence I snatched up the massive oaken chair, and balanced it aloft--a feat I could not perhaps have performed in ordinary moments, but now excitement imparted a magical strength to every fibre of my body.
"Come on! I am free now!" I cried, brandishing the chair. "Do you see me? Free--_free_--_free!_"
In the sudden joy of my recovered liberty I was ten times madder than my opponent.
The artist might have stood for an image of amazement. Silent and immovable he stood, staring at me with a vacuous look, evidently unable to comprehend how I had gained my freedom.
Then suddenly Daphne's voice was drowned in a loud tumult, and in the quick trampling of numerous feet. This was immediately followed by a succession of strokes on the massive panels of the door, dealt by some heavy implements, accompanied at the same time by the sounds as of persons scrambling up the ivy outside towards the casement. Rescue was at hand!
And now across the oblong patch of moonlight that lay on the stone floor between me and the maniac appeared some dark shadows, and, turning towards the casement to ascertain the cause, the artist beheld human faces peering in through the diamond-shaped panes. A moment more and there came a great shivering and shattering of glass. The cold night air swept with a rush through the broken panes, bringing with it the wild crash of the Christmas bells, a tumult of voices, and Daphne's thrilling scream.