And as though the white flag were
a magnet to him, he moved unerringly towards it, the immense, earth-shaking
phalanx following him.
The awestruck crowds of armed men, so lately flushed with fanatical lust of
slaughter, stood as though turned to stone, their faces set towards the
terrifying onset. Their pain unheeded, their groans silenced, the wounded
staggered to their feet to look. Even the dying strove to raise themselves
on their arms from the reddened soil to gaze, and, gazing, fell back dead.
Slowly, mechanically, silently, the living gave way, the weapons dropping
from their nerveless grip. Step by step they drew back as if compelled by
some strange mesmeric power.
And on the verandah the few survivors of the little band stood together,
silent, amazed, scarce believing their eyes as they stared at the
incredible vision. All but Dermot. His gaze was fixed on the leader of that
terrible army; and he smiled, tenderly yet proudly. His arm drew the girl
beside him still closer to him, as he murmured:
"He comes to save us for each other, beloved!"
Nothing was heard, save the dull thunder of the giant feet. Then from the
village the high-pitched shriek of a woman pierced the air and shattered
the eerie silence of the terror-stricken crowds. Murmurs, groans, swelled
into shouts, wild yells, the appalling uproar of panic; and strong and
weak, hale men and those from whose wounds the life-blood dripped, turned
and fled.
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