Had it not been for his insistence-- "But that is all nonsense!" he tried to assure himself, as he took his binoculars from the rack and sighted at the forbidding, mysterious range.

"Am I responsible for a Moslem's superstitions, or his fanatic irrationality ?" The Master's own narrow escape from death disturbed him not at all.
He hardly even thought of it.

All he strove for, now, was to exculpate himself for Rrisa's death.

But this he could not do.
A sense of blood-guiltiness clung about him like a garment--the first that he had felt on this expedition.

His soul, unemotional, practical, hard, was at last touched and wounded by the realization that Rrisa, pushed beyond all limits of endurance, had chosen death rather than inflict it on his sheik.