Terence O'Rourke, Gentleman Adventurer
the most part lacework and embroidery. It was real; he could feel and see it, he dared no longer doubt the evidence of his senses, and yet the initial in the corner struck terror to his heart.
Suddenly, he found himself running back to the oasis, his heart in his throat. He dashed past his escort, thrusting them from his path with frantic strength; and they looked first at his face, drawn and haggard with straining eyes—the face of a madman—and then to one another, shaking their heads gravely.
It was not until he had reached the door of Monsieur l'Empereur's tent that he paused—not then, in fact, for he rushed on in, regardless of the etiquette that hedges about the sanctified persons of monarchs, and caught the sleeping Lemercier roughly, dragging him from his bed.
"Monsieur," he commanded rudely, "get up and dress yourself."
"What—what's trouble, O'Rourke? Eh-yah! Br-r-r, but it's cold."
"Monsieur," cried the exasperated O'Rourke, "I give ye two minutes to dress yourself and to go to the tent of Madame la Princesse, to see if she is there. Ye are her brother, and alone dare enter."
The Lemercier opened his eyes.
"What?" he stammered.
Briefly—curtly, in truth—O'Rourke related the events of the morning hours. He had scarce need to finish, to tell what he feared. At the sight of the handkerchief and upon his telling where he had found it, le petit Lemercier was struggling into his clothes.
Together they ran to the marquee of madame. Lemercier, standing outside, raised his voice and yelped for his sister;
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