Once again they kissed and clung together. Though Arithelli's lips
burnt, they scorched with the fires of despair rather than with those
of passion.
In silence Vardri helped her to her feet, and they walked together to
the door.
"You'll come to me to-morrow," Arithelli said.
"To-morrow we shall be safe. We'll be out of this hell altogether in
another day or two, _a la bonne heure_! You're not afraid, Fatalite?"
"I shan't be--when the letters are safe. Take care of yourself, _mon
ami, et a bientot_!"
"_Mon Dieu_! what pluck you have! How I love you for it! Go back and
rest, dear, till those brutes come down. Give me your hand again,
Fatalite, _bien aimee! gardez-vous, mais gardez-vous_!"
She answered him steadily. "_A demain_. _Adieu, mon ami_. Ride as
quickly as you can, but lead your horse for the first few minutes."
CHAPTER XXIII
"Le jeu est fait, rien ne vas plus!"
He was gone, and Arithelli was back in the hut again, and now the worst
of it all was still to come. If Vardri was to have a fair start she
must wait out the hour alone, realising every moment of the time what
awaited her at the end of it.
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