So toward them, while curses were in all hearts and on some lips, came the tall white figure with its arms outspread, its wild eyes aflame.
"O God of Might and Right! Give judgment now, give judgment now."
The cry rolled and echoed through the arcades to alien ears even as other cries.
"He is mad--he saved them--he is mad!" gasped the maimed woman behind; but her cry seemed no different to those unheeding ears.
The tall white figure lay on its face, half a dozen bayonets in its back, and half a dozen more were after Hâfzan.
"Stick him! Stick him! A man in disguise. Remember the women and children. Stick the coward!"
She fled shrieking--shrill, feminine shrieks; but the men's blood was up. They could not hear, they would not hear; and yet the awkwardness of that flying figure made them laugh horribly.
"Don't 'ustle 'im! Give 'im time! There's plenty o' run in 'im yet, mates. Lord! 'e'd get first prize at Lillie Bridge 'e would."
Someone else, however, had got it at Harrow not a year before, and was after the reckless crew. Almost too late--not quite. Hâfzan, run to earth against a red wall, felt something on her back, and gave a wild yell. But it was only a boy's hand.
"My God! sir, I've stuck you!" faltered a voice behind, as a man stood rigid, arrested in mid-thrust.