He had died, and so had Morales, and both by the explosion of the bomb
that had been launched by the hand of the former.
Sobrenski held rightly that those who meddled with politics on either
side must dispense with such useless things as scruples.
The night was still and sultry, with a full moon hanging low in the
sky. The weather had been unnaturally warm for the time of year, all
day, down in the city.
They were all glad when they had mounted above the sea-level.
There was a little breeze met them, and the tired and patiently
plodding horses raised their heads.
Arithelli drew a long breath of relief as she shifted in her saddle,
and glanced back to see if they were all in sight.
The _manta_ in which she was wrapped stifled her, and the weight of her
own hair under the wig and sombrero made her head ache and throb
violently.
As they rode she rehearsed her plans in her own mind, telling herself
over and over again the things that she must say and do when she was
alone with Vardri.
To-night would see Sobrenski's triumph, his grand coup, and when it was
all over perhaps she would have peace.
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