THE MESSAGE OF THE NIGHT
"Light it now. My memory, rather than my imagination!"
She struck the match; her face came upon him white in the darkness, with the mark on her cheek a dull red; but her eyes glittered. The match flared and died down.
"It is enough. I shall remember."
"Did I kill him?"
"I don't know whether he's killed—he's badly hurt. This lady here is pretty heavy."
"Give her to me. I'll put her in her place." She took the figure and set it again on the window-sill.
"And the big man who attacked you?"
"Mistitch? He'll be shot."
"Yes," she agreed with calm, unquestioning emphasis.
"You know what you did to-night?"
"I had the sense to think of the man in the porch."
"You saved my life."
Sophy gave a laugh of triumph. "What will Marie Zerkovitch say to that?"
"She's my friend, too, and she's told me all about you. But she didn't want us to meet."
"She thinks I bring bad luck."
"She'll have to renounce that heresy now." He felt for the chair and sat down, Sophy leaning against the window-sill.
"Why did they attack you?"
He told her of the special grudge which Mistitch and his company had against him, and added: "But they all hate me, except my own fellows from Volseni. I have a hundred of them in Suleiman's Tower, and they're stanch enough."
"Why do they hate you?"
"Oh, I'm their school-master and a very strict
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