She, under the dark sky, whispered: "It is you", her forehead on his
shoulder; and added: "My carriage, I think, is yonder".

Hogarth saw the carriage-lights at the field's edge, bore her
thither, laid her with care on the cushions, kissed her hand: and
this act Frankl saw--with incredulity of his own eyes. As he
approached, Hogarth walked away.

Frankl mastered his voice to say blandly in Spanish: "Well, how did
you get through, sweet child? Who was that man--? But stay: where
are those two fools?"

This meant the two familiars--the Arabs, Isaac and Mephibosheth, one
of whom had come as footman, the other as coachman--and, as he went
raging about the carriage, with stamps, his boot struck against a
body. There was enough light to reveal to his peering that it was
Mephibosheth, whom Isaac had stabbed, and fled...

Frankl lowered his ear--doubted whether he could detect a breathing;
and though scared, he being a Cohen, and the presence of death
defilement, yet he stayed, bending over Mephi several minutes,
thinking, not of him, but of Hogarth.

"It is that fool, Isaac, has done it", he thought; "and if the man
be dead--" What then? "_If_ he be dead, I've got you, Mr. Hogarth,
in the hollow of this hand...."

His fingers passed over the body: there, sticking in the breast, was
a cangiar which Isaac, in his panic, had left, and Frankl's hand
rested on the handle; if he did not consciously press the knife