was something about soldiers at Bordj Azzouz, changing garrison,
and Stephen believed that they meant marching to the rescue. Now, his
left arm wounded, his head cut, and eyes half blinded with a rain of
rubble brought down by an Arab bullet, he had made part of the descent
when Saidee screamed her high-pitched scream of terror.

He was still far above the remnant of stairway, broken off thirty feet
above ground level. But, knowing that the descent would be more
difficult than the climb, he had torn into strips the stout tablecloth
which had wrapped his heliographing apparatus. Knotting the lengths
together, he had fastened one end round a horn of shattered adobe, and
tied the other in a slip-noose under his arms. Now, he was thankful for
this precaution. Instead of picking his way, from foothold to foothold,
at the sound of the cry he lowered himself rapidly, like a man who goes
down a well on the chain of a bucket, and dropped on a pile of bricks
which blocked the corkscrew steps. In a second he was free of the
stretched rope, and, half running, half falling down the rubbish-blocked
stairway, he found himself, giddy and panting, at the bottom. A rush
took him across the courtyard to the gate; snatching Rostafel's rifle
and springing up the wall stairway, a bullet from Maieddine's revolver
struck him in the shoulder. For the space of a heart-beat his brain was
in confusion. He knew that the Arab had a knee on the wall, and that he
had pulled Victoria to him by her dress, which was smeared with blood.
But he did not know whether the blood was the girl's or Maieddine's, and
the doubt, and her danger, and the rage of his wound drove him mad. It
was not a sane man who crashed down Rostafel's rifle on Maieddine's
head, and laughed as he struck. The Arab dropped over the wall and fell
on the ground outside the gate, like a dead man, his body rolling a
little way down the slope. There it lay still, in a crumpled heap, but
the marabout and two of his men made a dash to the rescue, dragging the
limp form out of rifle range. It was a heroic act, and the Highlanders
admired it while they fired at the heroes. One fell, to rise no more,
and already two masked corpses had fallen from the wall into the
courtyard, daring climbers shot by Rostafel as they tried to drop.
Sickened by the sight of blood, dazed by shots and the sharp "ping" of
bullets, frenzied with horror at the sight of Victoria struggling in the
grasp of Maieddine, Saide