peless
gray turban of dough. Half a dozen torches jostled for the honor of
lighting it. The Christian, crowned with sooty flames, gave a single
cry, clear above all the others. He was calling--as even Rudolph
knew--on the strange god across the sea, Saviour of the Children of the
West, not to forget his nameless and lonely servant.

Rudolph groaned aloud, rose, and had parted the curtain to run out and
fall upon them all, when suddenly, close at hand and sharp in the
general din, there burst a quick volley of rifleshots. Splinters flew
from the attap walls. A torch-bearer and the man with the sword spun
half round, collided, and fell, the one across the other, like drunken
wrestlers. The survivors flung down their torches and ran, leaping and
diving over bales. On the ground, the smouldering Lamp of Heaven showed
that its wearer, rescued by a lucky bullet, lay still in a posture of
humility. Strange humility, it seemed, for one so suddenly given the
complete and profound wisdom that confirms all faith, foreign or
domestic, new or old.

With a sense of all this, but no clear sense of action, Rudolph found
the side-door, opened it, closed it, and started across the lane. He
knew only that he should reach the mafoo's little gate by the pony-shed,
and step out of these dark ages into the friendly present; so that when
something from the wall blazed point-blank, and he fell flat on the
ground, he lay in utter defeat, bitterly surprised and offended. His own
friends: they might miss him once, but not twice. Let it come quickly.

Instead, from the darkness above came the most welcome sound he had ever
known,--a keen, high voice, scolding.

"What the devil are you firing at?" It was Heywood, somewhere on the
roof of the pony-shed. He put the question sharply, yet sounded cool and
cheerful. "A shadow? Rot! You waste another cartridge so, and I'll take
your gun away. Remember that!"

Nesbit's voice clipped out some pert objection.

"Potted the beggar, any'ow--see for yourself--go-down 's afire."

"Saves us the trouble of burning it." The other voice moved away, with
a parting rebuke. "No more of that, sniping and squandering. Wait till
they rush you."

Rudolph lifted his head from the dust.

"Maurice!" he called feebly. "Maurice, let me in!"

"Hallo!" answered his captain on the wall, blithely. "Steady on, we'll
get you."

Of all hardships, this brief delay was least bearable. Then a bight of
rope fell across Rudolp