‘I’m sorry, my lady, but they are all used. There are the last of them burning now. We have burned them ever since that man began to swim ashore.’

‘Then hurry on the rocket-cart!’ she said as she sprang to the saddle, and swept out on the rough track that ran by the cliffs, following in bold curves the windings of the shore. The white Arab seemed to know that his speed was making for life. As he swept along, far outdistancing the groom, Stephen’s heart went out in silent words which seemed to keep time to the gallop:

‘Oh, to be God, and be able to do things! Give me this man’s life, oh, God! Give me this man’s life, to atone for that noble one which I destroyed!’

Faster and faster, over rough