He imagined for a moment that their foolish fears still held them there and he laughed feebly.

He was weak, but felt no pain from any wound, nor suspected that he was hurt.
Then he began to eye the fellows roguishly, taking a malicious pleasure in the continuance of their terror.

He tittered again and suddenly found himself out of patience with them.
"Come, get up--get up! The danger's all over long ago." He received no answer and put out his hand towards the nearest.
It was the Turk--a fellow who had been a janizary, and had the reputation of not knowing what fear was.
"Hullo, Ysouf! Get up, for shame--get up, man! And you--that we called so brave!" Ysouf lay still.

Tristram bent forward and took his hand.
The hand came away from the body.

It was icy cold.
Still holding it, Tristram leant back and stared; and as he stared a pettish anger took him.