If I am, I don't feel it," said Stephen. "Nothing matters
except you."
"I saw him shoot you. I--I thought you were killed. Put me down. I want
to look at you."
She struggled in his arms, as they reached the foot of the stairs, and
gently he put her down. But her nerves had suffered more than she knew.
Strength failed her, and she reached out to him for help. Then he put
his arm round her again, supporting her against his wounded shoulder. So
they looked at each other, in the light of the bonfires, their hearts in
their eyes.
"There's blood in your hair and on your face," she said. "Oh, and on
your coat. Maieddine shot you."
"It's nothing," he said. "I feel no pain. Nothing but rapture that
you're safe. I thought the blood on your dress might be----"
"It was his, not mine. His hands were bleeding. Oh, poor Maieddine--I
can't help pitying him. What if he is killed?"
"Don't think of him. If he's dead, I killed him, not you, and I don't
repent. I'd do it again. He deserved to die."
"He tried to kill you!"
"I don't mean for that reason. But come, darling. You must go into the
house, I have to take my turn in the fighting now----"
"You've done more than any one else!" she cried, proudly.
"No, it was little enough. And there's the wall to defend. I--but look,
your sister's fainting."
"My Saidee! And I didn't see her lying there!" The girl fell on her
knees beside the white bundle on the ground.
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