railway station in Hurda, and Skag couldn't very well get away. There
was something almost like anguish in the face of the young man as he
hastened forward--anguish of devotion that never hoped to express
itself; anguish by no means sure of itself, because it burned with the
thought of Carlin being nearer to any man. Ian didn't speak, as he
stopped with a rush before his sister. He merely touched her cheek,
but his eyes were the eyes of a man whose heart was starving. The
English observe that this jealous affection occasionally exists between
twins; the Hindus suggest certain mysterious spiritual relations as
accounting for it. . . . Finally Skag realised that Carlin's eyes were
turned to him, something of pity in them and something of appeal.

It was all very quick then. Skag's hand was out to her brother. Ian
didn't see it. Only his right elbow raised the slightest bit; his dark
face flushed and paled that second. The stare was refined; it wasn't
hate so much as astonishment that any man could ever bring the thing
about to touch Carlin's heart. Back of it all was the matter that Ian
Deal would have died before confessing--the pain and powerlessness of a
brother who loves jealously.

Few beings of his years would have seen so deep and kept his nerve that
instant, but Skag had been different since his battle with the cobra.
He had decided never to lose his nerve again. This was the first test
since that day. . . . His throat tightened a second, so that he had to
clear it. All he knew then was that her brother was striding away,
having muttered something about the need to see after unshipping Kala
Khan, his Arab mount, which was aboard the train. There was a sort of
shimmer between Skag's eyes and Ian Deal's vanishing legs that made
them seem lifted out of all proportion. Then Carlin caught his arm,
carried him forward and to her at the same time, as she whispered:

"You were perfect, Skag-ji. I never loved you so much as that moment,
when poor Ian refused to take your hand--"

Skag cleared his throat a second time. . . . Carlin had used that name
only once or twice before; and only in moments of her greater joy in
him. He had been told by Horace Dickson that "ji" used intimately was
"nicer" than any English word.

Something in this experience threw Skag back to the point of the cobra
and the last experience with crippling nerves. Of course, it was the
thought of Carlin imprisoned in the playhou