As he fell, it was
empty, and the assault finished; for below, the bamboo tube burst with a
sound that shook the wall; liquid flame, the Greek fire of stink-pot
chemicals, squirted in jets that revealed a crowd torn asunder, saffron
faces contorted in shouting, and men who leapt away with clothes afire
and powder-horns bursting at their sides. Dim figures scampered off, up
the rising ground.
"That's over," panted Heywood. "Thundering good lesson,--Here, count
noses. Rudie? Right-oh. Sturgeon, Teppich, Padre, Captain? Good! but
look sharp, while I go inspect." He whispered to Rudolph. "Come down,
won't you, and help me with--you know."
At the foot of the ladder, they met a man in white, with a white face in
what might be the dawn, or the pallor of the late-risen moon.
"Is Hackh there?" He hailed them in a dry voice, and cleared his throat,
"Where is she? Where's my wife?"
It was here, accordingly, while Heywood stooped over a tumbled object on
the ground, that Rudolph told her husband what Bertha Forrester had
chosen. The words came harder than before, but at last he got rid of
them. His questioner stood very still.
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