Something in the humor and gentle thought
of it all made her smile at Alan. But his face had turned suddenly grim,
and she looked up the kloof, where they had traveled through danger and
come to safety. And then she saw that which froze all thought of fairies
out of her heart.
Men were coming through the chaos and upheaval of rock. There were many
of them, appearing out of the darker neck of the gorge into the clearer
light, and at their head was a man upon whom Mary's eyes fixed
themselves in horror. White-faced she looked at Alan. He had guessed
the truth.
"That man in front?" he asked.
She nodded. "Yes."
"Is John Graham."
He heard the words choking in her throat.
"Yes, John Graham."
He swung his rifle slowly, his eyes burning with a steely fire.
"I think," he said, "that from here I can easily kill him!"
Her hand touched his arm; she was looking into his eyes. Fear had gone
out of them, and in its place was a soft and gentle radiance, a
prayer to him.
"I am thinking of tomorrow--the next day--the years and years to come,
_with you_," she whispered. "Alan, you can't kill John Graham--not until
God shows us it is the only thing left for us to do. You can't--"
The crash of a rifle between the rock walls interrupted her. The snarl
of a bullet followed the shot.
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