For a moment more he spurted, spurring like a fiend, then wheeled and charged at Cunningham.
He guessed that but for Cunningham that number of Rangars would never have agreed on a given plan.

He knew that it was he, and not Cunningham or Alwa or Rosemary McClean, who had broken faith.

He had broken it in thought, and word, and action.

And he had lost his prospect of a throne.
So he came on like a man who has nothing to gain by considering his safety.

He came like a real man at last.