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 study in red, for his face and forehead were burning, and now that Cloud had gone he gave way to the indignation that the story had inspired in him. The calm despair in which Cloud had finished it filled his eyes with tears. It was true—the man’s life was done—save in some other country under some other name—(the talk of the Algerian from Sai-bel-Abbas came into his mind)—in Oran perhaps as one of the legion of dare-devils made famous by their reckless bravery against the Moslems. Why not? Only men who had nothing to lose by death could cope with men who believed that they could not die unless Fate has so ordained.

He looked out into the night, but its thick blackness gave him no consolation. There was no way of escape—Cloud was caught like a rat in a pit. Once the ship reached quarantine the officers would swarm over the side and go through her as with a finetooth comb, and they would find Cloud and recognize him, as easily and certainly as they would find Mrs. Trevelyan should they want her. There was no mistaking him. And his conduct—his prolonged absence from the dining-room at