In the profound stillness
of the courtyard her clear voice made the shadows at the nearest fires
stir a little with low murmurs of surprise.
"Oh, yes, I remember whose heads I have to save," she cried. "But in all
the world who is there to save that man from himself?"
V
D'Alcacer sat down on the bench again. "I wonder what she knows," he
thought, "and I wonder what I have done." He wondered also how far he
had been sincere and how far affected by a very natural aversion from
being murdered obscurely by ferocious Moors with all the circumstances
of barbarity. It was a very naked death to come upon one suddenly. It
was robbed of all helpful illusions, such as the free will of a suicide,
the heroism of a warrior, or the exaltation of a martyr. "Hadn't I
better make some sort of fight of it?" he debated with himself. He saw
himself rushing at the naked spears without any enthusiasm. Or wouldn't
it be better to go forth to meet his doom (somewhere outside the
stockade on that horrible beach) with calm dignity. "Pah! I shall be
probably speared through the back in the beastliest possible fashion,"
he thought with an inward shudder. It was certainly not a shudder of
fear, for Mr. d'Alcacer attached no high value to life. It was a shudder
of disgust because Mr. d'Alcacer was a civilized man and though he had
no illusions about civilization he could not but admit the superiority
of its methods.
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