ly too glad to
have him back, to see him married to a woman of Arithelli's charm and
breeding. There had never been any quarrel with his family, except
when he had joined the Red Flag party, and it was only natural that
they should quarrel over that. Love or the Revolution? There would
never be any more doubt now as to which he would choose.

In the old days he had preferred starvation, and the freedom to act,
and think as he liked. He had gloried in being an outcast, in
suffering for the Cause. Life had been hard at times, but he had known
men of ideals and enthusiasms and there had been a certain fascination
in the excitement of being hunted. But now that was all over and a new
day was dawning for them both, for himself and for Arithelli.

He spoke to his horse and stirred it into a quicker pace.

They must be well out of the way and she would think he was never
coming.

Inside the stable Arithelli, tall and straight in her scarlet shirt,
moved to and fro at her work, hanging up saddles and bridles, carrying
pails of water, ranging on either side of the hut the horses and the
mules. Tortured as she was with anxiety, she did not forget the wants
of her friends the animals. It came across her mind how once when she
had said to Vardri, "Let us see to the horses first," he had said half
in jest, "If I were a Spaniard I should be jealous. You always think
of the animals before everything else."

One by one the rest of the conspirators tramped heavily up the ladder,
leaving her alone with Sobrenski, who stood with his back to the
doorway, following her with his eyes as she moved to and fro in the
shadows cast by the solitary lamps.

Before he mounted the ladder in his turn, he came across the hut, took
her by the shoulder and spoke to her. "Be careful how you do your
work, for if it is not well done others will do it for you."

She could not answer; she shuddered at his touch; her hands went up and
covered her face.

Sobrenski turned and mounted the worn rungs of the narrow ladder with a
lithe, active step. He was quite sure of her now. She would not fail
to carry out his will.

CHAPTER XXII

"Il n'y a que l'amour et la mort."

For a few minutes after he had gone, Arithelli stood motionless, still
with her hands pressed tightly over her eyes, trying to command her
brain to work clearly. Her will and her limbs seemed paralysed. She
could only wait for Vardri's approach. Once she prayed