The storm had burst on India. In the Khyber Pass there was fiercer fighting than even that blood-stained defile had ever seen. The flames kindled by fanaticism and lust of plunder blazed up along the North-west Frontier and burned fiercest around Peshawar, where the Pathan tribes gathered thickest. No news came from the interior of Bhutan.

So far, however, the interior of the land was comparatively tranquil. Sporadic outbreaks in the Bombay Presidency and the Punjaub had been crushed promptly. The great plan of a wide-spread concerted rising throughout the peninsula had come to naught, thanks to the papers that Dermot had found in the man-eater’s den. He had carried them straight to Simla himself, for closer examination had confirmed his first impression and shown him that they were far too important to be confided to any one else.

The information in them proved to be of the utmost value, for they disclosed the complete plans of the conspirators and told the very dates arranged for the advance of the Afghan army and the attacks of the Pathans, which were to take place simultaneously with the general rising in India. This latter the military authorities were enabled to deal with so effectively that it came to nothing.

Incidentally the papers conclusively proved the treason of the Rajah and the Dewan of Lalpuri, and that the Palace was one of the most important centres of the conspiracy. To Dermot’s amazement no action was taken against the two arch-plotters, owing to the incredible timidity of the chief civil authorities in India and their susceptibility to political influences in England. For Lalpuri and its rulers had been taken under the very particular protection of the Socialist Party; and the Government of India feared to touch the traitors. The excuse given for this leniency was that any attempt to punish them might be the signal for the long delayed rising in Lalpuri and Eastern Bengal generally.

A few days after Dermot’s return from Simla orders came to him from the Adjutant General to hand over the command of the detachment to Parker, as he himself had been appointed extra departmental Political Officer of the Bhutan Border, with headquarters at Ranga Duar. This released him from the responsibilities of his military duties and left him free to devote himself to watching the frontier. He was able to keep in communication with Parker by means of signal stations established on high peaks near the Fort, visible from many points in the mountains and the forest; for he carried a signalling outfit always with him.

Thanks to this precaution the garrison of the outpost was not taken by surprise when one morning the hills around Ranga Duar were seen to be covered with masses of armed men, and long lines of troops wound down the mountain paths. For from the peaks above the pass through which he had once gone to the Death Place of the elephants, Dermot had looked down upon an invading force of Chinese regulars supported by levies of Bhutanese from the interior and a wild mob of masterless Bhuttias from both sides of the border. He had flashed a warning to Parker in ample time, returned to the peelkhana and bidden Ramnath hide with Badshah in a concealed spot in the foothills where he could easily find them, sent the other mahouts and elephants out of reach of the invaders, and climbed up to the Fort to watch with his late subaltern the arrival of the enemy.

“Well, Major, it’s come our way at last,” said Parker as they greeted each other. “Thanks to your warning we’re ready for them. But we are not the only people who’ve been expecting them. The wires are cut, the road blocked, and we are isolated.”

“Yes, I know. Many messengers have got through from the enemy; for my cordon of faithful Bhuttias has disappeared. The members of it have joined the invaders in the hope of loot.” Parker looked up at the hills, black with descending forms.

“There’s a mighty lot of the beggars,” he said simply. “Do you remember our discussing this very happening once and your saying that we weren’t equal to stopping a whole army? What’s your advice now?”

“See it out. We’re bound to go under in the end, but we’ll be able, I hope, to keep them off for a few days. And every hour we hold them up will be worth a lot to those below. We shan’t be relieved, for there aren’t any men to spare in India. But we’ll have done our part.”

“I say, Major, wasn’t it lucky we got those machine guns in time? I’ve plenty of ammunition, so we ought to be able to put up a good fight. What’ll they do first?”

“Try to rush the defences at once. They have a lot of irregulars whom the Chinese General won’t be able to keep in hand. He won’t mind their being wiped out either. I see you’ve made a good job of clearing the foreground. You haven’t left them much cover. So you blew up our poor old Mess and the bungalows?”

“Yes. The rubble came in handy for filling in that nullah. Hullo!” Parker’s glasses went to his eyes. “You’re right, by Jingo! They’re gathering for an assault. Gad! what a beautiful mark for shrapnel. I wish we’d a gun or two.”

A storm of shells from the mountain batteries, the only artillery that the enemy had been able to bring with them through the Himalayas, fell on the Fort and its defences. Then masses of men rushed down the hills to the attack. Not a shot was fired at them. Encouraged by the garrison’s silence and carried away by the prospect of an easy victory, they lost all formation and crowded together in dense swarms.

The two British officers watched them from the central redoubt. Parker held his binoculars to his eyes with his right hand, while his left forefinger rested on a polished button in a little machine on the table beside him. The assailants, favoured by the fall of the ground, soon reached the limits of the cantonments, bare now of buildings and trees. There were trained Chinese troops, some tall, light-complexioned Northerners of Manchu blood, others stocky, yellow men from Canton and the Southern Provinces. Mobs of Bhutanese with heads, chests, legs, and feet bare, fierce but undisciplined fighters, armed with varied weapons, led the van. Uttering weird yells and brandishing their dahs, spears, muskets, and rifles, they rushed towards the fort, from which no shot was fired. Accustomed to the lofty jongs, or castles, of their own land they deemed the breastworks and trenches unworthy of notice. And the stone barracks and walls in the Fort were rapidly melting away under the rain of shells.

Flushed with victory the swarming masses came on. But suddenly the world upheaved behind the leaders. Rocks, earth, and rubble went up in clouds into the air, and with them scores of the Chinese regular troops, under whose very feet mines of the new explosive had been fired by Parker. And the howling mobs in front were held up by barbed wire, while from the despised trenches and breastworks a storm of lead swept the crowded masses of the attackers away. At that close range every bullet from the machine guns and rifles of the defenders drove through two or three assailants, every bomb and grenade slew a group. Only in one spot by sheer weight of numbers did they break through.

But like a thunderbolt fell the counter-attack. Stalwart Punjaubi Mohammedans, led by Dermot, swept down upon them, and with bomb and bayonet drove them out. The survivors turned and staggered up the hills again, withering away under the steady fire of the sepoys, who adjusted their sights with the utmost coolness as the range increased.

Again and again the assaults were repeated and repulsed, until the undisciplined and demoralised Bhutanese refused to advance, and the Chinese regulars attacked alone. But fresh mines exploded under them; the deadly fire of the defenders’ machine guns blasted them; and the Pekin general looked anxious as his best troops melted away. He would not go far into India if every small body of its soldiers took equally heavy toll of his force. So he ordered a cessation of the assaults.

But there was no respite for the little garrison. Day and night the pitiless bombardment by the mountain batteries and long-range fire of rifles and machine guns never ceased. And death was busy among the defenders.

On the third night of the siege Dermot and the subaltern knelt side by side in what was now the last line of the defence.

“I ought not to ask you to go, Major,” whispered Parker. “It’s not possible to get through, I’m afraid. I can’t forget the awful sight of the fiendish tortures they inflicted on poor Hikmat Khan and Shaikh Ismail today in full view of us all. They tried to slip through last night with their naked bodies covered with oil. It’s a terrible death for you if they catch you. It would be much easier to die fighting. Yet someone ought to go.”

“Yes, they must be told at Headquarters,” replied his companion in an equally low tone. “We can’t hold them two days longer.”

“Not that, if they try to rush us again. Our ammunition is giving out,” said Parker. “I’d go myself if I weren’t commanding here. But I’d have no chance of getting through. You are our only hope. Oh, I don’t mean of relief. There’s no possibility of that.”

“No; if I do manage to get into touch with Headquarters, it would be too late, even if they could spare any troops.”

“Yes, it’s all over now, bar the shouting. Well, we’ve had some jolly times together, sir, you and I, in this little place, haven’t we? Do you remember when the Dalehams were up here? What a nice girl she was. I hope she’s safe.”

“I hope to Heaven she is,” muttered Dermot. “Well, Parker, I must say good-bye. We’ve been good friends, you and I; and I’m sorry it’s the end.”

In the darkness their hands met in a firm grip.

“One word, sir,” whispered the subaltern. “If you do pull through, you’ve got my mother’s address. You’ll let her know? She thinks a lot of me, poor old lady.”

Dermot answered him only by a pressure of the hand. The next moment he was gone. Parker, straining eyes and ears, saw nothing, heard nothing.

Half an hour later a picquet of slant-eyed men lying on the steep slopes of the hill below the Fort saw above them a man’s figure dark against the paling stars. They challenged and sprang towards it with levelled bayonets. The next instant they were hurled apart, dashed to the ground, trampled to death. One as he expired had a shadowy vision of some awful bulk towering black against the coming dawn.

The sun was low in the heavens when Dermot awoke in a bracken-carpeted glade of the forest thirty miles away from Ranga Duar. Over him Badshah stood watchfully. The man yawned, rubbed his eyes and sat up. He looked at his watch.

“Good Heavens! I’ve slept for hours!” he cried.

Overcome by fatigue, for he had not even lain down once since the siege began, and finding that he was in danger of falling off the elephant, he had dismounted for a few minutes’ rest. But exhausted Nature had conquered him, and he had fallen into a deep sleep. Haggard, hollow-eyed, and worn out, despite the rest, he staggered to his feet and was swung up to Badshah’s neck by the crooked trunk and started again.

He was hastening towards Salchini, where he hoped to secure Payne’s car, if the owner had not fled, and try to get into touch with Army Headquarters. But what to do if his friend had gone he hardly knew. The heavy firing at Ranga Duar, echoed by the mountains, must have been heard in the district; and all the planters had probably taken the warning and gone away. He was racked with anxiety as to Noreen’s fate and could only hope that at the first alarm her brother had hurried her off. But there was no military station nearer than Calcutta or Darjeeling, and by this time it was probable that the whole of Eastern Bengal was in revolt. God help the Englishwoman that fell into its people’s hands! The temptation to turn aside to Malpura was great. But Dermot overcame it. His duty came first.

Darkness had fallen on the jungle now. Except to lessen his speed it made little difference to the elephant; but for the man it was harder to find his way. On the twisting jungle tracks his luminous compass was of little use. He was forced to trust mainly to the animal.

But soon a suspicion arose in his mind that Badshah had swerved away from the direction in which Salchini lay and was heading for Malpura. It became certainty when they reached a deep nullah in the forest which Dermot knew was on the route to that garden. He tried to turn the elephant. Badshah paid no heed to him and held on his way with an invincible determination that made the man suspect there was a grave reason for his obstinacy. He knew too well the animal’s strange and mysterious intelligence. He gave up contending uselessly and was borne along through the dark forest unresisting. Over the tree-tops floated the long, wailing cry of a Giant Owl circling against the stars. Close to their path the warning bark of a khakur deer was answered by the harsh braying roar of a tiger. Far away the metallic trumpeting of a wild elephant rang out into the night.

Presently Dermot saw a red glow through the trees ahead. Badshah never checked his pace but swept on until the glow became a ruddy glare staining the tree-trunks. Suddenly the stars shone overhead. They were clear of the jungle; and as they emerged on the open clearing of the tea-garden a column of fire blazed up ahead of them.

A chill fear smote Dermot. He would have urged Badshah on, but the elephant did not need it. Rapidly they sped along the soft road towards the leaping flames, which the soldier soon realised rose from the burning factory and withering sheds. And black against the light danced hundreds of figures, while yells and wild cries rent the air. And, well to one side, a fresh burst of flame and sparks leapt up into the night. It was one of the bungalows afire. Round it more figures moved fantastically. A groan came from the man’s lips. Was it Daleham’s bungalow that burned?

All at once Badshah stopped of his own accord and sank down on his knees. Mechanically his rider slipped to the ground and stood staring at the strange scene. He hardly noticed that the elephant rose, touched him caressingly with its trunk, swung round and sped away towards the forest. Half-dazed and heedless of danger Dermot hurried forward. Again the flames shot up, and by their light he saw to his relief that the Dalehams’ bungalow was still standing. Parry’s house was burning furiously. Pistol in hand he ran forward, scarcely cognizant of the crowds of shifting figures around the blazing buildings, deaf to their triumphant yells. Groups of natives crossed his path, shouting and leaping into the air excitedly, but they paid no attention to him. But, as he ran, he hit up against one man who turned and, seeing his white face, yelled and sprang away.

As Dermot neared the Dalehams’ bungalow he saw that it was surrounded by a cordon of coolies armed with rifles and strung out many yards apart. He raced swiftly for a gap between two of them; but a man rose from the ground and snatched at him. The soldier struck savagely at him with the hand in which the pistol was firmly clenched, putting all his weight into the blow. The native crumpled and fell in a heap.

Dashing on Dermot shouted Daleham’s name. From behind a barricade of boxes on the verandah a stern voice which he recognised as belonging to one of the Punjaubi servants whom he had provided, called out:

“Kohn hai? Kohn atha? (Who is there? Who comes?)”

“Sher Afzul! It is I. Dermot Sahib,” he replied, as he sprang up the verandah steps.

The muzzle of a rifle was pointed at him over the barricade, and a bearded face peered at him.

“It is the Major Sahib!” said the Mohammedan. “In the name of Allah, Sahib, have you brought your sepoys?”

“No; I am alone. Where are the Sahib and the missie baba?”

“In the bungalow. Enter, Sahib.”

Dermot climbed over the barricade and pushed open the door of the dining-room, which was in darkness. But the heavy curtain dividing it from the drawing-room was dragged aside and Daleham appeared in the doorway, outlined against the faint light of a turned-down lamp. Behind him Noreen was rising from a chair.

“Who’s there?” cried the boy, raising a revolver.

“It’s all right, Daleham. It’s I, Dermot. I’m alone, I’m sorry to say.”

A stifled cry burst from the girl.

“Oh, you are safe, thank God!” she cried, her hand at her heart.

“What has happened here?” asked Dermot, entering the room.

Fred let fall the curtain as he answered:

“Hell’s broke loose on the garden, sir. The coolies have mutinied. Parry’s dead, murdered; and we’re alive only by the kind mercies of that brute Chunerbutty, damn him! You were right about him, Major; and I was a fool.... Is it true you’ve been attacked up in Ranga Duar?” he continued.

“Are you wounded, Major Dermot?” broke in the girl anxiously.

“No, Miss Daleham. I’m quite safe and sound.”

Then he told them briefly what had happened. When he had finished he asked them when the trouble began at Malpura.

“Three days ago,” replied Fred. “The wind was blowing from the north, and we heard firing up in the mountains. I thought you were having an extra go of musketry there. But the coolies suddenly stopped work and gathered outside their village, where those infernal Brahmíns harangued them. I went to order them back to their jobs-“.

“Where was Parry?”

“Lying dead drunk in his bungalow. Well, some of the coolies attacked me with lathis, others tried to protect me. The Brahmíns told me that the end of the British Raj (dominion) had come and that you were being attacked in Ranga Duar by a big army from China and would be wiped out. Then I was hustled back to the bungalow where those Mohammedan servants that you got for us-lucky you did!-turned out with rifles, which they said afterwards you’d given them, and wanted to fire on the mob. But I stopped them.”

“Where was Chunerbutty?”

“Oh, he hadn’t thrown off the mask yet. He came to me and said he was a prisoner and would not be allowed to leave the estate. But he advised me to ride over to Granger or some of the other fellows and get their help. But I wouldn’t leave Noreen; and Sher Afzul told me that it was as bad on the other gardens. But only today the real trouble began.”

“What happened?”

“Some news apparently reached the coolies that drove them mad with delight. They murdered the Parsi storekeeper, looted his place, and got drunk on his daru. Then they started killing the few Mohammedans we had on the estate. Some of the women and children got to us and we took them in. But the rest, even the little babies, were murdered by the brutes.

“I went over to Parry, but he was still too drunk to understand me. I was trying to rouse him when I heard shouts and ran out on the verandah. All the coolies, men, women, and children, were streaming towards the bungalows, mad with excitement, screaming and yelling. The men and even most of the boys carried weapons. The Brahmíns were leading them. They made for Chunerbutty’s house first. I was going to run to his assistance, when he came out and they cheered him like anything. He was in native dress and had marks painted on his forehead like the other Brahmíns.”

“Yes; go on. What happened then?”

“The engineer seemed as excited and mad as the rest. He ran down his steps, put himself at the head of the mob, shouted out something, and pointed to Parry’s bungalow. They all rushed over to it, yelling like mad. Poor old Parr heard them and, dazed and drunk, staggered out on the verandah in his pyjamas and bare feet. Chunerbutty and the Brahmíns came up the steps, driving back the crowd, which tried to follow them, howling like demons.”

Fred passed his hand across his eyes. Dermot bent forward and stared eagerly at him, while Noreen looked only at the soldier.

“I called out to the engineer and asked him what it all meant,” went on the boy, “but he took no notice of me. Parry tottered towards him, abusing him. Chunerbutty let him come to within a yard or two, then pulled out a pistol and fired three shots straight at the old man’s heart. Poor old Parr fell dead.”

Daleham paused for a moment.

“Poor old chap! He had his faults; but he had his good points, too. Well, I rushed towards him, but the Bengalis fell on me, knocked me down, and overpowered me. The mob outside yelled for my blood; but Chunerbutty shut them up. I was allowed to get on my feet again; and Chunerbutty held a pistol to my head, and cursed me and ordered me to go back to my bungalow and wait. He said that somebody would come here tomorrow to settle what was to be my fate and to take Noreen.”

The girl sprang up.

“You never told me that,” she cried.

“No; it wasn’t any use distressing you,” replied her brother. “But I had to tell the Major.”

She turned impetuously to Dermot and stretched out her arms to him.

“You won’t let them take me, will you? Oh, say you won’t!” she said with a little sob.

He took both her hands in his.

“No, little girl, I won’t. Not while I live.”

“You’ll kill me first? Promise me.”

“On my honour.”

She gave a sigh of relief and, strangely content, sank back into her chair. But she still held one of his hands clasped tightly in both of hers.

“Well, that’s pretty well all there is to tell, Major,” her brother went on. “I came back here, and the servants and I tried to put the house into a state of defence. No one’s come near us so far.”

“So Chunerbutty was at the head of affairs here. I thought so, I suppose the someone is that scoundrelly Rajah. He’ll make his conditions known and, if you don’t surrender, they’ll attack us. Now, let’s see what we’ve got as garrison. We two and the servants-seven. How are you off for weapons? I left my rifle behind.”

“The servants have got their rifles and plenty of ammunition. I have a double-barrelled .400 cordite rifle and a shot-gun. If it comes to a scrap I’ll take that and leave you the rifle. You’re a much better shot; and I can’t miss at close quarters with a scatter-gun.”

“Do you think there’s any hope for us?” asked the girl quietly.

“Frankly, I don’t. I’d not put it so bluntly, only I’ve seen you in a tight corner before, Miss Daleham, and you weren’t afraid.”

“I am not now,” she replied calmly.

“I believe we’d hold off these coolies, aye, and the Rajah’s soldiers too, if they came. But we may have the Chinese troops on us at any minute; and that’s a different matter.”

“But why should you stay with us, Major Dermot?” said the girl anxiously. “As you got in through these men, surely you could escape the same way.”

“I’ll be candid with you, Miss Daleham, and tell you that if I could I would. For it’s my duty to go on and report. But I’m stranded without my elephant, and even if I had him it wouldn’t be much good unless I had Payne’s car. And what has happened here must have happened on the other gardens. Without the motor I’d be too late with my news. So I’ll stay here and take my chance.”

Then he laughed and added:

“But cheer up; we’re not dead yet. If only I’d Badshah I’d take you both up on him and we’d break through the whole Chinese Army.”

The girl shook her head.

“We couldn’t go. We couldn’t leave those poor women and children and the servants.”

“I forgot them. No; you’re right. Well, I haven’t lost all hope. I have great faith in old Badshah. I shouldn’t be surprised if he got us out of this scrape, as he did before.”

“Oh, I forgot him. I believe he’ll help us still,” cried the girl. “Where did you leave him?”

“He left me. He’s quite able to take care of himself,” replied Dermot grimly. “Now, Daleham, please take me round the house and show me the defences; and we’ll arrange about the roster of sentry-duty with the servants. Please excuse me, Miss Daleham.”

Through the weary night the two men, when not taking their turn on guard, sat and talked with Noreen in the drawing-room. For the girl refused to go to bed and, only to content them, lay back on a settee.

When she and Dermot were left alone she sighed and said:

“Ah, my beautiful forest! I must say good-bye to it. How I have enjoyed the happy days in it.”

“Some of them were too exciting to be pleasant,” he replied smiling.

“But the others made up for them. I like to think of you in the forest best,” she said dreamily. “We were real friends there.”

“And elsewhere, I hope.”

“No. In Darjeeling you didn’t like me.”

“I did. Tonight I can be frank and tell you that I was glad to go to it because you were there.”

She looked at him wonderingly.

“But you wouldn’t take any notice of me there,” she said.

“No. I was told that you were engaged, or practically engaged, to Charlesworth, and disliked any one else taking up your time.”

She sat up indignantly.

“To Captain Charlesworth? How absurd! I suppose I’ve Ida to thank for that. I wouldn’t have married him for anything.”

“Is that so? What a game of cross-purposes life is! But that’s why I didn’t try to speak to you much.”

“Did you want to? I thought you disliked me. And it hurt me so much. Do you know, I used to cry about it sometimes. I wanted you to be my friend.”

He walked over to her settee.

“Noreen, dear, I wanted to be your friend and you to be mine,” he said, looking down at her. “I liked you so much. At least, I thought I liked you.”

“And-and don’t you?” she asked, looking up at him.

He knelt beside her.

“No, little friend, I don’t like you. Because I-” He paused.

“What?” she whispered faintly.

“I love you, dear. Do you think it absurd?”

She was silent for a moment. Then she looked slowly up at him; and in her eyes he read her answer.

“Sweetheart! Little sweetheart!” he whispered, and held out his arms to her.

With a little cry she crept into them; and he pressed her to his heart. At that moment enemies, danger, death, were forgotten. For Noreen her whole world lay within the circle of his arms.

“Do you really, really love me?” she asked wonderingly.

He held her very close to his heart and looked fondly, tenderly down into the lovely upturned face.

“Love you, my dearest? I love you with all my heart, my soul, my being,” he whispered. “How could I help loving you?”

And bending down he kissed her fondly.

“It’s all so wonderful,” she murmured. “I didn’t think that you cared for me, that you could ever care. You seemed so far away, too occupied with important things to spare a thought for me. So serious a person, and sometimes so stern, that I was afraid of you.”

He laughed amusedly.

“The wonder is that you ever came to care for me. You do care, don’t you, beloved?”

She looked up at him earnestly.

“Dear, do I seem forward, bold? But our time together is too short for pretence. Yes, I do care. I love you? I seem to have always loved you. Or at least to have waited always to love you. I don’t think I knew what love was until now. Until now. Now I do know.”

She paused and stared across the room, seeing the vision of her childhood, her girlhood. From outside came intermittent shouts and an occasional random shot. But she did not hear them.

“As a child, as a schoolgirl, even afterwards, I used to day-dream. I used to wonder if any one would ever love me, ever teach me what love is. I dreamt of a Fairy Prince who would come to me one day, of a strong, brave, tender man who would care for me, who would want me to care for him. I often laughed at myself for it afterwards. For in London men all seemed so very unlike my dream-hero.”

She turned her face to him and looked tenderly at him.

“But when I met you,” she continued, “I think I knew that you were He. But I never dared hope that you would learn to care for me.”

“Dearest heart,” he replied, “I think I must have fallen in love with you the first moment I saw you. I can see you now as you stood surrounded by the elephants, a delightful but most unexpected vision in the jungle.”

“Did you-oh, did you really like me that very first day?” she asked eagerly. At the moment the answer seemed to her the most important thing in the world.

As a lover will do Dermot deceived himself and imagined that his love had been born at the first sight of her. He told her so; and the girl forgot the imminent, deadly peril about them in the glow of happiness that warms the heart of a loving woman who hears that she has been beloved from the beginning.

“But I looked so absurd,” she said dreamily; “so untidy, when you first saw me. Why, my hair was all down.”

He laughed again; but the laughter died from his lips as the remembrance of their situation returned to him. Death was ordinarily little to him; though now life could be so sweet since she loved him. It seemed a terrible thing that this young girl must die so soon-and probably by his own hand to save her from a worse fate.

She guessed his thoughts.

“Is this really the end, dear?” she asked, unwilling but unafraid to meet death. “Is there no hope for us?”

“I fear not, beloved.”

“I-I don’t want to die so soon. Before you came tonight I wouldn’t have minded very much; for I was not happy. But now it’s a little hard, just as this wonderful thing has happened to me.”

She sighed. He held out his arms again, and she crept into them and nestled into his embrace.

“Well, if it must be so, I’ll try to be worthy of my soldier and not disgrace you, dear,” she said fondly, bravely. “Let’s try to forget it for a while and not let it spoil our last hours together. Let’s ‘make-believe,’ as the children say. Let’s pretend that this is all a hideous nightmare, that our lives and our love are before us.”

So through the long, dread night with the hideous menace never out of their minds they talked bravely of what they would like to do, to be-if only they were not to die so soon. Several times Noreen left him and went to comfort, to console the poor Mohammedan women and children to whom she had given shelter. Her brother refused to allow Dermot to relieve him on watch, saying that he could not sleep or rest, and begging him instead to remain with the girl to cheer her, to hearten her in the awful hours of waiting for the end.

So Dermot was with her when a sudden uproar outside caused him to dash out on to the verandah. From behind the barricade on the front verandah Daleham was watching.

“What is it? Are they attacking?” cried the soldier.

“No. It’s not an attack. They’re cheering somebody, I think, and firing into the air.”

Dermot stared out. Men ran forward to the smouldering ruins of the factory and threw on them tins of kerosene oil, looted from the murdered Parsi’s shop, until the flames blazed up again and lit up the scene. The hundreds of coolies were cheering and crowding round a body of men in red coats.

“I believe it’s the Rajah’s infantry,” said Dermot. “Are they going to attack? Sher Afzul, wake up the others and tell them to be on their guard. Give me that rifle, Daleham.”

So Noreen did not see her lover again until the sun rose on a scene of desolation and ruin. Smoke and sparks still came from the blackened heaps of the destroyed buildings. The cordon of sentries had apparently been withdrawn; but when Daleham climbed up on the barricade to get a better view a shot was fired from somewhere and a bullet tore up the ground before the bungalow.

A couple of hours dragged slowly by; and then a servant doing sentry on the front verandah reported a cloud of dust on the road from the forest leading to the village. Dermot went out on the front verandah which looked towards the coolie lines and put up the glasses.

“Some men on horses. Yes, and a motor-car coming slowly behind them,” he said to Daleham and his sister, who had followed him out. “It’s the Rajah and his escort, I suppose. Things will begin to move now.”

When the newcomers reached the village a storm of shouting arose. Volley after volley of shots were fired, conch-shells blown, tom-toms beaten.

“Yes, there’s no doubt of it. It must be that fat brute,” said Daleham.

Half an hour went by. The sun was high in the heavens. The landscape was bare of life. Not a man was visible. But presently from the village came a little figure, a naked little coolie boy. He moved slowly towards the bungalow, stopping every few minutes to look back to the huts, then advancing again with evident reluctance.

Dermot watched him through the glass. The whole garrison was on the verandah.

“He’s a messenger. I see a letter in his hand,” said the soldier. “Poor little devil, he’s in an awful funk. None of the cowards dared do it themselves, so they beat this child and made him come.”

At last the frightened infant reached the bungalow, and Sher Afzul met him and took the letter from him. Fred tore it open. It was written by Chunerbutty and couched in the most offensive terms. If within half an hour Miss Daleham came willingly to the Rajah, her brother’s life would be spared and he would be given a safe conduct to Calcutta. But everyone else in the bungalow would be put to death, including the white man reported to have entered it during the night. If the girl did not surrender, her brother would be killed with the rest and she herself taken by force.

Dermot acquainted the Mohammedan servants with the contents, to show them that there was no hope for them, so that they would fight to the death. The little boy was told that there was no answer, and Daleham gave him a few copper coins; but the scared child dropped them as though they were red hot and scampered back to the village as fast as his little legs would carry him.