Cunningham shook his head in despair.
“This is the end,” said Stephan quietly. “I think—I think we may let you go on alone, if you wish. You may escape.”
“Maria?” demanded Cunningham, very white. He would feel like a coward and a scoundrel if he deserted these people, but if he could save Maria he would do it.
“No,” said Stephan. “She is my daughter and I would save her life. But if our secret is known it is best that she die quickly with the rest.”
Cunningham groaned and clenched his fists.
“I stay,” he said harshly. “And—I fight with you!”
Sunrise broke upon the Strangers huddled high up on a bare and windswept peak. Its first cold rays aroused them. Gradually it warmed them. And it showed them clearly to a ring of still-raging men who were made savage by the ruin they had wrought during the night. From fifty places in the hills thin columns of smoke still rose wanly to the sky, from as many heaps of ashes that had been the Strangers’ homes.
And shots began to be fired from the besiegers of the Strange People. Then Vladimir rode forward on a white horse and shouted to them in that unknown language.
16
Cunningham could not understand the speech of Vladimir, nor the replies that Stephan made. Only, once Maria clung to his arm in an access of hope.