Ayeshi threw back his head. His features were terrible in their frozen composure.
"I believe."
"You accept the responsibility for all these lives——?"
"I cannot help myself—I am one of them."
Barclay made a gesture of angry impatience.
"Do you expect me to stay here and drown like a rat in a trap——?" he demanded.
"No—why should you? What are we to you—or you to us?"
Barclay shrank back. With a sound like a smothered groan, he turned his horse about and rode towards Vahana who still stood motionless and waiting beneath the black shadows of the trees. He dismounted and looked back. Sigrid had not moved. The water had risen swiftly to her horse's knees. Ayeshi bent towards her and laid his hand on her bridle.
"Go, Mem-Sahib-fear nothing—they will not harm you. You are not of our blood or faith. Go—do not let me have your death on my hands. Mem-Sahib—trust him—he will not fail you——"
She lifted her eyes to his face. Behind his passive despair there shone the old confidence—the re-birth of a faith. She gave him her hand, and he lifted it to his forehead.