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However, Weigall's affection for his friend was too deep to companion with tranquillity in the present state of doubt, and, instead of going to bed early with the other men, he determined to walk until ready for sleep. He went down to the river and followed the path through the woods.
I tried to borrow another horse up at Clancey's, and at Scotton's Drive, but they didn't know me, and they bounced me. So I borrowed a horse off Weigall's paddock, to make for here to you. I didn't mean to keep that horse. Hell, I'm no horse-stealer! But I couldn't explain to them, except that I had to git to Bindon to save a man's life.
I tried to borrow another horse up at Clancey's, and at Scotton's Drive, but they didn't know me, and they bounced me. So I borrowed a horse off Weigall's paddock, to make for here to you. I didn't mean to keep that horse. Hell, I'm no horse-stealer! But I couldn't explain to them, except that I had to git to Bindon to save a man's life.
But it was no one of these things that sat on Weigall's mind as, when the other men went up to bed, he let himself out of the castle and sauntered down to the river.
God, the Truth? The only god was He of the Battles, who had led Egypt into Syria; the only truth the doctrine of the sword, which had held her there for so many years." Freddy turned over the leaves of the book which he had been reading from, and began again quoting from Weigall's Life of Akhnaton. "'Love!
His wrists were cracking, the skin was torn from his hands. The fingers still gripped the stick. There was life in them yet. Suddenly something gave way. The hand swung about, tearing the branch from Weigall's grasp. The body had been liberated and flung outward, though still submerged by the foam and spray.
Her last conscious thoughts were of Margaret Lampton. What was she doing to-night? What were her thoughts? Late that night, as Abdul passed the Englishwoman's tent, he spat at her door. Weigall's Akhnaton, Pharaoh of Egypt. What was Margaret doing that night? Many days had passed since she had heard from Michael, but there was nothing in that to cause her anxiety.
Was that a hand? It thrust itself still higher above the boiling foam, turned sidewise, and four frantic fingers were distinctly visible against the black rock beyond. Weigall's superstitious terror left him. A man was there, struggling to free himself from the suction beneath the Strid, swept down, doubtless, but a moment before his arrival, perhaps as he stood with his back to the current.
It is an experiment I don't think I should care to try, unless even juggling with soul and flesh had palled." "That would not be an uninteresting predicament. I should rather enjoy experimenting with broken machinery." The high wild roar of water smote suddenly upon Weigall's ear and checked his memories.
If people laugh in your face, it's no use explainin'. I took a roan from Weigall's, and they got after me. 'Bout six miles up they shot at me an' hurt me." She saw that one arm hung limp at his side and that his wrist was wound with a red bandana. She started forward. "Are you hurt bad? Can I bind it up or wash it for you? I've got plenty of hot water here, and it's bad letting a wound get stale."
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