merciless cruelty. Diana was almost sick with horror from the
beginning; she longed to turn away, but her eyes clung fascinated to
the battle that was going on. The hush that had fallen on the crowd had
given way to roars of excitement, and the men pressed forward eagerly,
to give back precipitately when the still-fighting animal's heels
flashed too near.

Diana was shaking all over and her hands were clenching and unclenching
as she stared at the man, who seemed a part of the horse he was sitting
so closely. Would it never end? She did not care now which killed the
other so that it would only stop. The man's endurance seemed mere
bravado. She clutched Gaston's arms with a hand that was wringing wet.
"It is horrible," she gasped with an accent of loathing.

"It is necessary," he replied quietly.

"Nothing can justify that," she cried passionately.

"Your pardon, Madame. He must learn. He killed a man this morning,
threw him, and what you call in English 'savaged' him."

Diana hid her face in her hands. "I can't bear it," she said pitifully.

A few minutes later Gaston clicked his tongue against his teeth. "See,
Madame. It is over," he said gently.

She looked up fearfully. The Sheik was standing on the ground beside
the colt, who was swaying slowly from side to side with heaving sides
and head held low to the earth, dripping blood and foam. And as she
looked he tottered and collapsed exhausted. There was a rush from all