In the minute's pause following on his words, a giant figure suddenly appeared behind the dynamiters. It was the temporary Chief Constable of Lebanon, returning from his visit to Tekewani. He had heard Ingolby's wild words, and he realized the situation.
"Ingolby—steady there, Ingolby !" he called. "Steady! Steady!
Gabriel Druse is here. It's all right."
At the first sound of Druse's voice the two wreckers turned and ran.
As they did so, Ingolby's hands fell to his side, and he staggered forward.
"Druse—Fleda," he murmured, then swayed, trembled and fell.
With words that stuck in his throat Gabriel Druse stooped and lifted him up in his arms. At first he turned towards the bridge, as though to cross over to Lebanon, but the last word Ingolby had uttered rang in his ears, and he carried him away into the trees towards his own house, the faithful terrier following. "Druse—Fleda !" They were the words of one who had suddenly emerged from the obsession of delirium into sanity, and then had fallen into as sudden unconsciousness.
"Fleda! Fleda!" called Gabriel Druse outside the door of his house a quarter of an hour later, and her voice in reply was that of one who knew that the feet of Fate were at her threshold.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
They think that if a vote's worth having it's worth paying for
You never can really overtake a newspaper lie