Once again they kissed and clung together. Though Arithelli's lips burnt, they scorched with the fires of despair rather than with those of passion.
In silence Vardri helped her to her feet, and they walked together to the door.
"You'll come to me to-morrow," Arithelli said.
"To-morrow we shall be safe. We'll be out of this hell altogether in another day or two, à la bonne heure! You're not afraid, Fatalité?"
"I shan't be—when the letters are safe. Take care of yourself, mon ami, et à bientot!"
"Mon Dieu! what pluck you have! How I love you for it! Go back and rest, dear, till those brutes come down. Give me your hand again, Fatalité, bien aimée! gardez-vous, mais gardez-vous!"
She answered him steadily. "À demain. Adieu, mon ami. Ride as quickly as you can, but lead your horse for the first few minutes."
CHAPTER XXIII
"Le jeu est fait, rien ne vas plus!"
He was gone, and Arithelli was back in the hut again, and now the worst of it all was still to come. If Vardri was to have a fair start she must wait out the hour alone, realising every moment of the time what awaited her at the end of it.