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 instantly he was looking at her again, and there was a deeper cunning in his eyes.

“TI have seen death in many lands, under many shapes,” he said slowly, as one who is drawing with some difficulty a memory from the past, “but no one faces it with greater courage than the devout follower of the Prophet. Of course the poor devil is all wrong in his theology; but it has this supreme merit— when the time comes he is not afraid to die. Kismet, he says, and with an idiotic smile on his face turns over, and the door is closed be- hind him. It’s a fine word, kismet, and avoids all necessity for lengthy and involved explana- tions.”

“Perseus, Perseus,” she moaned, “come; for the love of God come to me now!”

“Tn death, in life; war, love, defeat, triumph, kismet explains all. Do you know the word, Trene?”

A lump in her throat choked the reply, but she nodded mutely, like an animal that is struck dumb with terror.

“It is written. All things are written—even this.”

“This!”

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