edeemed, and finally, the lantern flashing upon
him in that solitary place,--the scene itself and the progress of the
incidents were so visible to Ethne at that moment that even with the
feather in her open palm she could hardly bring herself to believe that
Harry Feversham had escaped.

"Well, well?" she asked.

"He was standing with his face to the wall, the light came from the
alley behind him. He did not turn, but out of the corner of his eye he
could see a fold of a white robe hanging motionless. He carefully
secured the package, with a care indeed and a composure which astonished
him even at that moment. The shock had strung him to a concentration and
lucidity of thought unknown to him till then. His fingers were
trembling, he remarked, as he tied the knots, but it was with
excitement, and an excitement which did not flurry. His mind worked
rapidly, but quite coolly, quite deliberately. He came to a perfectly
definite conclusion as to what he must do. Every faculty which he
possessed was extraordinarily clear, and at the same time
extraordinarily still. He had his knife in his hand, he faced about
suddenly and ran. There were two men waiting. Feversham ran at the man
who held the lantern. He was aware of the point of a spear, he ducked
and beat it aside with his left arm, he leaped forward and struck with
his right. The Arab fell at his feet; the lantern was extinguished.
Feversham sprang across the white-robed body and ran eastward, toward
the open desert. But in no panic; he had never been so collected. He was
followed by the second soldier. He had foreseen that he would be
followed. If he was to escape, it was indeed necessary that he should
be. He turned a corner, crouched behind a wall, and as the Arab came
running by he leaped out upon his shoulders. And again as he leaped he
struck."

Captain Willoughby stopped at this point of his story and turned towards
Ethne. He had something to say which perplexed and at the same time
impressed him, and he spoke with a desire for an explanation.

"The strangest feature of those few fierce, short minutes," he said,
"was that Feversham felt no fear. I don't understand that, do you? From
the first moment when the lantern shone upon him from behind, to the
last when he turned his feet eastward, and ran through the ruined alleys
and broken walls toward the desert and the Wells of Obak, he felt no
fear."

This was the most mysterious part of Harry Feversham's story to