bruptly and then quickened with a cry of joy. It must be the faithful
George still waiting in the place appointed. Now there would be two to
the task. But it was too late, he bitterly reflected. In a little the
moon would rise, and then at any moment the van of the invader might
emerge from the defile. He might warn Bardur, but before anything could
be done the enemy would be upon them. And then there would be a
southward march upon a doubtful and half-awakened country, and then--he
knew not.

But there was one other way. It had not occurred to him before, for it
is not an expedient which comes often to men nowadays, save to such as
are fools and outcasts. We are a wise and provident age, mercantile in
our heroics, seeking a solid profit for every sacrifice. But this
man--a child of the latter day--had not the new self-confidence, and he
was at the best high-strung, unwise, and unworldly. Besides, he was
broken with toil and excited with adventure. The last dying rays of the
sun were resting on the far snow walls, and the great heart of the west
burned in one murky riot of flame. But to the north, whence came
danger, there was a sea of yellow light, islanded with faint roseate
clouds like some distant happy country. The air of dusk was thin and
chill but stirring as wine to the blood, and all the bare land was for
the moment a fairy realm, mystic, intangible and untrodden. The
frontier line ran below the camping place; here he was over the border,
beyond the culture of his kind. He was alone, for in this adventure
George would not share. He would earn nothing, in all likelihood he
would achieve nothing; but by the grace of God he might gain some
minutes' respite. He would be killed; but that, again, was no business
of his. At least he could but try, for this was his one shred of hope
remaining.

The thought, once conceived, could not be rejected. He was no coward or
sophist to argue himself out of danger. He laid no flattering unction
to his soul that he had done his best while another way remained
untried. For this type of man may be half-hearted and a coward in
little matters, but he never deceives himself. We have all our own
virtues and their defects. I am a well-equipped and confident person,
walking bluffly through the world, looking through and down upon my
neighbours, the incarnation of honesty; but I can find excuses for
myself when I desire them, I hug my personal esteem too close, and a
thousand to one I am