Mehalah drew her pistol from her belt, and cocked it. She was standing, without trembling, immovable in the punt, her eye fixed unflinching on the reeds.
'George,' she said, 'dip the oars. Don't let her float away.'
He hesitated.
Presently a slight click was audible, then a feeble flash, as from flint struck with steel in the pitch blackness of the shore.
Then a small red spark burned steadily.
Not a sound, save the ripple of the retreating tide.
Mehalah's pistol was levelled at the spark. She fired, and the spark disappeared.
She and George held their breath.
'I have hit,' she said. 'Now run the punt in where the light was visible.'
'No, Glory; this will not do. I am not going to run you and myself into fresh danger.' He struck out.