"She's bewitched, whateffer!" the twins mumbled, each in his
watch-tower, as the tall figure sailed on like a war-cloud, untouched.
And they wished for silver bullets, to break the charm woven round the
"fanatic" by a wicked spirit.
Over Maieddine's head his leader was shooting at Stephen in the tower,
while Hamish returned his fire, leaving the running man to Angus. But
suddenly Angus wheeled after a shot, to yell through the tower door into
the courtyard. "Oot o' the way, wimmen! He's putten gunpowder to the
gate if I canna stop him." Then, he wheeled into place, and was
entranced to see that the next bullet found its billet under the Arab's
turban. In the orange light of the bonfires, Angus could see a spout of
crimson gush down the bronze forehead and over the glittering eyes. But
the wounded Arab did not fall back an inch or drop a burden which he
carried carefully. Now he was sheltering behind the high, jutting
gate-post. In another minute it would be too late to save the gate.
But Angus did not think of Victoria. Nor did Victoria stop to think of
herself. Something seemed to say in her heart, "Maieddine won't let them
blow up the gate, if it means your death, and so, maybe, you can save
them all."
This was not a thought, since she had no time for thought. It was but a
murmur in her brain, as she ran up the steep stairway close to the gate,
and climbed on to the wall.
Maieddine, streaming with blood, was sheltering in the narrow angle of
the gate-post where the firing from the towers struck the wall instead
of his body.
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