“For God’s sake don’t touch your sabre-hilt!” she said.... “Unclasp your belt! Let it fall!”
“Can’t you give me a chance with those cavalrymen?”
“I can’t. You know it.”
“Yes; I know.”
There was a silence; the loosened belt fell to the grass, the sabre clashing. He looked coolly at the troopers, at her, and then out across the smoke.
“This way?” he said, as though to himself. “I never thought it.” His voice was quiet and pleasant, with a slight touch of curiosity in it.
“How did you know?” he asked simply, turning to her again.
She stood leaning back against a tree, trying to keep her eyes fixed on him through the swimming weakness invading mind and body.
“I suppose this ends it all,” he added absently; and touched the sabre lying in the grass with the tip of his spurred boot.
“Did you look for any other ending, Mr. Moray?”