She took a step toward him. Without turning "The Shadow" raised a staying hand.
Rowgowskii turned from Emily at her call to meet again the merciless gaze of Lavelle.
"Pray," said Lavelle, moving toward him.
The light of all reason went out of the doomed man's face. A maniacal cry burst from him. He leaped to his feet. Lavelle sprang at him. With a speed of a hawk's swoop the Russian turned and fled to the cliff. A second he hesitated on the brink and then plunged over it headlong.
A moment of silence, then a splash and a lingering cry echoed up the face of the cliff. The gold woman's tortured nerves relaxed. Senseless she dropped where she stood.
CHAPTER XIX
With the Russian's wild death cry still echoing in her senses Emily awoke a half-hour later to a vivid consciousness. She found herself lying in the protecting shade of the boat sail tent which Lavelle had erected for her habitation near the eastern side of the hill on the day after the landing. The scene upon which her eyes had closed flashed again across her vision and she sat up with a shudder.
The movement brought to her senses for the first time a realization of physical pain. Remembering the strength of spirit which had been given to her to stand upon fire she throttled the cry which sprang to her lips. Her suffering became precious to her even as the agony of travail is dear to a woman. Her eyes welled with hot tears.
Putting out a hand blindly she found the little canvas sandals. She picked them up and pressed them to her bosom. The charred heels and soles crumbled away at her touch. She kissed them with the impulse which would carry a warrior's lips to his colors. To her these pieces of canvas were the symbols of a faith which had sustained her in a trial which passed her understanding.